


Pride | Trouble Letting Go

by bottseveryflavorbeans



Series: Seven Shades of Sin [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Case Fic, Community: Seven Shades of Drarry, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, It's For a Case, Jealous Harry, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Murder Mystery, Non-Canonical Character Death, POV Alternating, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Pining, Rituals, Secret Crush, Seven Deadly Sins, Sex Magic, Sexual Tension, Succubi & Incubi, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23332513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottseveryflavorbeans/pseuds/bottseveryflavorbeans
Summary: When a Succubus is on a killing spree in both Muggle and Wizarding London, Auror Harry Potter is on the case, and Auror Draco Malfoy is on the case, too, even if his partner refuses to include him. But can they take the Succubus down when faced with her Sex Magic, a spell brewed up by Potions Master Pansy Parkinson that amplifies attraction, and their own stubborn pride?Pride— the irrational belief of one’s own excellence, superiority, or importance.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Seven Shades of Sin [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677472
Comments: 42
Kudos: 123
Collections: Seven Shades of Drarry





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the [Seven Shades of Sin anthology](/series/1677472), the first in a series of planned collaborative projects within the [Seven Shades of Drarry](/collections/Seven_Shades_of_Drarry) collective.
> 
> There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2emrdGIthVVBwflHmUO4Yo?si=_dQ6V1ITQH-abE_5ChF3lw); seven songs for each of the seven fics included in the collection.

The music drifted out of Pandemonium like a vibrating pulse. Harry could feel it in his bones. He stood tense, waiting for something to happen—and it was a matter of _when_ , not if—of that he was sure. He’d seen that _thing_ in the club, followed it through the crowd, and out to the alley.

So where was it now?

He looked over his shoulder towards the road. Cars whizzed by in the rain, cabbies picked up drunk people who were all but oblivious to the fact that London’s Nightclub Killer just walked out of the same club they’d been partying in.

Harry couldn’t see any sign of the thing near the road, so it had to be in this alleyway. He’d followed it, not more than a few feet behind, as it led a petite woman out of the club, so they couldn’t have gotten too far. Someone’s life was in danger, and Harry had to help.

His wand in hand, Harry slowly walked further into the alley where large dumpsters lined the wall of the club. The back of the alley ended in a brick wall, so unless the thing could Apparate or fly, he had it cornered.

Something in the back of Harry’s mind told him to send a Patronus to his Auror partner, but he didn’t have time to wait for backup; the longer he waited, the more likely it was that the woman was dying. Harry wasn’t going to let that happen, not when he was here and able to fight.

There was a soft moan that drifted towards Harry during a pause in the pounding music inside. It was too quiet to tell if it was from pleasure or pain.

“ _Revelio_ ,” Harry whispered, pointing his wand towards the dumpsters. If the thing was cloaking itself, or hiding behind the dumpsters, the spell would let Harry know. He felt a surge run though him as his magic focused and coursed out of him, though his wand. Then the dumpster nearest him was pushed away in one loud, screeching motion, to reveal two women locked in a seriously porn-worthy kiss.

“ _Stupefy_ ,” Harry shouted, aiming at the back of the raven-haired woman. It hit her in one angry red flare, but then it bounced off her, ricocheting off the brick wall opposite them, and then fizzling out all together.

A soft, honeyed laugh came from the raven-haired woman, the thing he’d been tracking, as she tore herself away from her prey. She turned to face Harry, a twisted smile spreading across her face, momentarily stunning him. It seemed impossible that a woman that beautiful could smile in such a malicious way, all teeth and darkness.

He stammered out a quick Protego at the blonde woman who was now mewling like a kitten, reaching for the raven-haired woman’s face. The effort to lift his wand, collect his magic, and focus it outward to protect the woman practically made him faint. Magic had never been this difficult for him. He felt the spell land though, so he breathed out a sigh of relief that at least the woman was shielded from getting hit by a stray spell.

That’s when he felt it, her magic, falling over him like a silk sheet. It was silky, it was erotic, and he wanted to bathe in it forever. Her eyes fixed on him, and her smile softened into something devilishly sensual. The quirk of her red-lined lips made Harry stand at attention. He took a step forward, moving to her. There was a nagging voice at the back of his mind that told him this was bad, that he should probably cast a spell, stop her—but it felt so _good_ , and he didn’t want to stop feeling good.

It had been so long, so incredibly long, since Harry let himself feel anything other than guilt and regret. He’d boxed himself in with it, slept with it, ate with it—his constant companions. All the lives that had been lost for him, because of him, they were with him. All the people he’d hurt. He carried them with him every day, a reminder that he couldn’t let anyone get hurt because of him ever again.

But under her gaze, all that melted away, and Harry felt _good_.

“Poor thing,” she purred as she moved closer, swaying her hips in a very distracting way. It did wonderful things to her legs, accentuating the taut lines of muscle there. “When was the last time you felt love? _Pleasure_?”

“W—what?”

She cooed softly like a mother shushing a child, promising there were no monsters under the bed. “I can sense it, a block in your Life Energy. You won’t allow yourself to feel love, why?”

He pointed a finger at the thing, the Succubus that had been killing people all over London. “I can feel love just fine, lady.” Suddenly, he felt drunk. It was hard to stand without wobbling from one foot to the other. Part of him remembered the wand in his hand, and thought he should do something with it, but he couldn’t think what. The rain fell harder now, but he hardly registered it.

“Platonic love, familial love, yes, but not romantic. You can’t even admit to yourself to whom you’re attracted.”

“I’m not, uh, not attracted to anyone,” Harry managed to say, though forming thoughts was growing increasingly complicated, and he wasn’t even sure why he was talking to her at all. He should be capturing her, right? Something in his mind told him that was right, but he couldn’t form a spell.

“I can tell that you haven’t been touched by another in two years. You barely even touch yourself, but when you do… you think of _him_. Curious.”

 _Him_? Harry tried to think of who she meant, but all he could think about was the generous curves of her hips, and the taut muscles of her legs. He wanted to prop her up on a counter, spread her legs, and lose himself in pleasing her.

“It does taste better when they can admit it,” she seemed to be talking to herself now. “However, I cannot afford to be a picky eater right now.” She looked over her shoulder at the woman who she’d been feeding on, then her gaze settled back on Harry, and with it another rush of her magic.

“I’m just not looking to date anyone at the moment, okay?” Harry asserted, still focused on her accusation that he refused to let someone love him. He wasn’t sure what she was on about, but he could do it if he wanted to. This conversation was ridiculous. There was something else he needed to do, if only he could remember what it was.

“People like you, who hold it all in, taste like milk gone sour.”

Harry scoffed. “I _don’t_ taste like milk.” He fought the urge to drop at her feet and beg her to love him. He knew it wasn’t right, but he just couldn’t remember exactly why. That nagging sensation was the only thing that kept him from doing it.

The Succubus laughed. It was comforting, and he wanted to listen to only that noise for the rest of his life. “Mmm, you mortals are so blind to your own Life Energy, your own desires. You would rather be alone than admit you want to be loved?”

“Psh, I can admit it.” Everything around him blurred, until all he saw was her. He wanted to make her happy, so he continued, admitting something he had never voiced to another person, something he rarely even let himself think about. “It’s just, I don’t deserve to be loved—not until I make everything _right_ again.”

She clicked her tongue at him, reaching out her slender fingers to tilt his chin up—her deep brown eyes, searching his face. “You really believe that, don’t you, my pet?”

Harry felt a lump form in his throat. “Y-yes.”

“I will love you, please you, and you can stop fighting, stop protecting,” she purred, leaning in and planting a soft lipped kiss on his mouth. It sent a jolt of pleasure through him that made his knees buckle. “I will give you all that your heart desires tonight.” Her words came as a comfort. Harry leaned into her touch more, letting her scent wash over him. “You will die with a smile on your face, having experienced love like no other.”

Harry kissed her hard, not really caring that she had said he would die. For a moment, he wondered if that was really so terrible. He couldn’t fail anyone if he was dead. Their kiss deepened, and Harry felt himself grow hard. Then he heard a soft cry from behind the woman kissing him, who claimed to be the answer to all his problems.

That’s when he came to his senses. He wasn’t sure if it was the woman’s cry or the rain pounding down, soaking him through, that brought him out of it. Maybe it was dumb luck. Whatever it was, he was thankful. What was he thinking? He was kissing a Succubus, a killer, letting her siphon his Life Energy. It wouldn’t permanently harm him, but it would feel like someone took a sizable chunk of his ability to use magic while his Life Energy healed.

“Stop,” he said, pushing away from the Succubus. He felt instantly lightheaded like he’d stood up too quickly.

She released him, but only after biting his bottom lip and slowly dragging her teeth off. “Stop? Are you sure? I can taste your arousal, and it’s surprisingly sweet despite your inability to admit your feelings. Don’t you want all that I can give you?”

He did. Merlin, he did, but he knew it wasn’t real. It was her magic. “No.”

The twisted smile returned to her face, shattering a bit more of her hold on Harry. His head still felt clouded, but he managed to shout, “ _Impedimenta_.” His magic, weakened by the Succubus’ kiss, lessened the effect of the spell, only managing to push her a few steps back. But that was enough.

He swallowed hard, and let loose every spell he could think of, starting with Expelliarmus and ending with a Bat-Bogey Hex. Casting made him see spots, and he wasn’t even sure he was hitting the Succubus. Sometimes nothing came out of his wand at all. She had only kissed him for a minute, but she managed to practically sideline him, not to mention she made him think of things he’d rather ignore. All in all, she had him over a barrel.

The only reason he knew she was still there was the occasional growl she let out when moving out of the way of a spell, and the pressure of her own magic as it worked itself on him, into him. He bit the inside of his cheek to stay focused, the pain helping him ignore how badly he wanted to lay down in the alley and let her finish him off. It wouldn’t be a bad death, really. He’d get to experience pleasure, unhampered by all his guilt. It would be like falling asleep on the beach in summer.

He heard the woman, the Succubus’s victim, cry when he hit the demon-witch with the dumpster he managed to move using a version of the _Leviosa_ spell. The effort to cast made his legs feel like jelly, so he leaned on the brick wall of the alley to keep steady. Spells rolled off her, so he’d resorted to hitting her with actual objects and it was working, at least it would until he couldn’t gather the strength to focus on casting.

“You’ll regret this, wizard,” she growled, and shoved the dumpster away. Her face shifted before him, revealing a greying, aging face. Her eyes a putrid yellow, and her hair hung around her face like twisted vines on a decaying tree.

Harry fought against the force of her magic, which still worked on him despite her gruesome face, and gathered his remaining strength and said, “ _Incendio_.”

Flame burst forth out of his wand, hitting the Succubus square in the chest. She hissed in response, her flesh singed. Harry felt the last of her hold on him falter when the smell of her burning flesh reached his nose. It was the best smell in the world because he was thinking clearly now.

“Stay away from her, I mean it,” Harry said, trying to sound confident, though if she pushed the matter he wasn’t sure he could gather enough strength to hit her with another spell. But she didn’t need to know that.

The Succubus let out an aching howl, tilting her head back as she screeched.

Harry held his wand up despite the tremor in his hand. He pulled in a deep breath and hoped against all hope that he could cast off one more spell. The word barely formed in his mouth before she scooped up the victim, and bounded on him. He felt his head hit the ground before he knew what happened. Then everything went dark.


	2. Harry

Harry closed his eyes. The people settling into their chairs around him put him on edge. He clenched his jaw shut. Their hushed chatter was like the chirping of crickets in summer; quiet, yet annoying. He snapped his eyes open just as his Auror partner, Draco Malfoy, settled into one of the red velvet conference chairs at the other end of the semi-circle conference table. His white-blonde hair was slicked back similar to the way he wore it in school. And though he wore the same standard black robes as the other Aurors gathered in the conference room, Malfoy stood out, and that only served to make the throbbing headache working its way behind Harry’s eyes all the worse.

He was still recovering the Life Energy the Succubus siphoned off him. It had taken him three tries to get his Floo working, and his wand only sparked whenever he tried casting. He hadn’t felt so useless since he was living with the Dursleys.

The only small blessing of the day was that his partner hadn’t taken the empty chair next to him as an invitation to whisper passive-aggressive comments at him during the meeting. However, that did leave it open for his best friend, Ron Weasley, who made his way into the room and straight for the empty chair at Harry’s side. He sat down with an ‘oof’ and nudged Harry with his elbow.

“This about your case then?” Ron asked. His long red fringe fell into his eyes, and he casually blew it away.

Harry sighed. “Find out soon enough, I reckon.” The meeting was a direct result of his mistake last night, and he didn’t feel like getting lectured by Ron since he knew Robards and Malfoy would both have plenty to say on the subject.

Ron nodded. “True.” He shifted in his chair, scooting it closer to the table, and then laid his arms flat on the surface. He tried a soft smile, but then it shifted to a concerned look.

Harry _really_ wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. He felt hungover, worse than hungover, he felt like someone literally took a bite out of him. He didn’t know everything about Life Energies, but Hermione once likened it to an invisible field of magic inherent to all humans, only a wizard’s was more solid, more real, more able to be affected by magical forces. So maybe the Succubus actually had taken a bite out of him, spiritually speaking. He could still feel the effect of the Succubus’ magic on him, at any rate. Even four boiling hot showers hadn’t washed away the feeling of her lips on his. He clenched his jaw, ignored the pounding headache and smiled for Ron’s benefit. “So how’s your case going?”

Ron, still eyeing him like a concerned father, said, “It’s going. The random magical surges seem to have stopped. Mostly it was killing wildlife—birds, stray cats and dogs—but there have been a few injuries caused by a spell gone wonky in the vicinity of the surge. We think we found the bloke who's been behind it.”

Harry nodded. “Really? Have you asked him why he’s messing with ambient magic?”

Ron huffed out a breath through his nose. “He’s dead. Found him in an abandoned building two days ago with all his equipment and notes. Been dead almost a month. Have you ever seen a body that’s been exploded, Harry? His skin was… ugh, I chucked up my lunch.”

“Merlin, Ron,” Harry said grimacing. “Anything helpful in the notes at least?”

“Some odd ramblings about avoiding a call, plus we found a sketch for something like a magical storage device. What’s that Muggle thing that keeps your wireless running, again?”

“A battery?”

Ron snapped his fingers. “Yes, exactly. Seems he tried and failed to collect magic in a battery. It backfired and blew him up. It was a nasty scene, Harry. Bits of him everywhere.”

“Merlin, that’s grim.”

Ron nodded in agreement. “So how are things with your new partner?”

Harry sighed, and wished he could keep on sighing until all the air left his body and he could pass out. “ _Tedious_.”

A laugh bubbled up out of Ron. A loud barking sort of laugh, the kind you can’t control, that made all the heads in their vicinity snap to attention. “Sorry,” he said to the group, and then more quietly to Harry he said, “Sorry, mate. That bad?”

Malfoy was one of the people who watched Harry and Ron. He wore a quiet scowl that made him look like a governess who was upset that you couldn’t learn the difference between formal _you_ and informal _you_ in French. Harry half expected him to pull a yard stick out and slap it across his knuckles. The thought made Harry’s pants grow tighter. His face flushed immediately at the thought.

The Succubus’ magic must still be addling his mind because the thought of Malfoy whacking him with a ruler had just _excited_ him. Shaking that thought from his brain, Harry turned his attention back on Ron. “Remember the time Hermione made us study the map of Ley Lines and the major nexuses in England just in case they appeared on the N.E.W.T.s? And then when they didn’t, she tried to explain why we were better off for having the knowledge and should thank her instead of being angry that we wasted a whole weekend?”

Ron winced. “Oh, Merlin, right. I think I blocked that out. So much memorising. Shite, she can be a menace sometimes, eh?”

“Yeah, but it’s Hermione, so mostly, it’s tolerable. But Malfoy? He’s like that, all know-it-all about work. That would be fine once in a while, but it’s every hour of every day, Ron. He is on my case about inter office memos or case files or harping on me to use a fucking coaster under my mug. He’s an endless stream of organisation and rules and I swear if I have to hear him say ‘but that’s not protocol’ one more time, I’m going to flay him.”

“Did you really expect anything different?” Ron asked, giving Harry a sympathetic smile. He looked past Harry, and smiled at Malfoy, who was apparently still watching them, then added, “Look, he did really well in training, and we both know he has more to prove than anyone in the DMLE, especially considering… you know? Maybe, and I cannot believe it is me saying these words, but...maybe cut him some slack?”

Harry couldn’t stop himself from frowning. “He literally, no exaggeration, he literally organises his quills by size, smoothness of the flow on parchment, and type of feather, and if I ask to borrow one, he makes me sign it out and leave something as collateral.”

“He’s a handful, I get it, but you’re not a walk in the park as a partner either, at least not since...”

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron. “Not this again. I solve cases. I get the bad guy in the end, isn’t that what matters most?”

“It matters, but not the most. You never used to hate working with someone this much.”

“It’s just different now, okay?”

Ron sighed. “No, not okay. We’ve been arguing about this for months. How many more partners do you think they will let you go through before Robards fires you?”

Harry wanted to say something back, but before he could, their boss, Head Auror Robards, walked in and he looked about as happy as someone who had just gotten a root canal and came out to find a parking ticket on their car. He marched up to the large map of London hanging on the board at the front of the conference room and settled his gaze on the group. The map of London had red dots to indicate the locations of the recent murders in Harry’s case.

Robards was an unassuming man. Quiet, until he needed to talk. Efficient in every sense of the word. Not much in the way of looks or muscle, but Harry knew the man was tough. In fact, he often told Ron that he thought Robards liked to look unassuming because it gave him an advantage. If people didn’t think much of him, he always had the upper hand.

Robards grunted and the room fell silent. Harry’s worsening headache was glad for the silence, but he knew the real pain was about to start. Robards eyed him briefly, then scanned the rest of the Aurors gathered: the violent crimes division.

“As you all may be aware, we have a problem in London. There have been a string of murders all perpetrated by one creature that, according to history, was once a witch who used Life and Death magic to prolong their life; a Succubus. We had hoped they were all extinct or apprehended, but it seems at least one remains active and has been busy.”

A hand shot up in the back. Harry could see out of his periphery that it was Auror Read, a mousy man that reminded Harry of Pettigrew. Harry had gone through training with him, and he was almost as annoying as Malfoy. “But sir, a Succubus will rarely kill so close together. They feed on Life Energy, and according to _How Witches Become Demons_ , one life is enough to sustain them for over a year. They have no need to kill so frequently. The bargain they make with their Demon is for immortality through the sacrifice of one life a year. They give up everything for this, their magic, their morality, their ability to pass on to anywhere other than Hell. Most live a few centuries before the Demon will collect their soul. It makes no logical sense that one would kill so many like this, calling attention to itself when it’s been getting by under the radar.

Robards cracked his neck. “Auror Read, that is all well and good, but if you could hold off the commentary until I am finished?”

Auror Read had the grace to look embarrassed and put his hand down.

“As I was saying, there have been six kills as far as we know. The first three were all Muggle, so we didn’t hear about it right away. You know how Muggle law enforcement likes to keep us as a last resort.” Robards paused when the group of Aurors grunted at the mention of the Muggle authorities. Robards returned the grunt. He got annoyed with them, too, it seemed. “The fourth was a wizard, and so it officially became our case.”

Harry chanced a look at his partner and found Malfoy searching the map behind Robards rather than scowling in Harry’s direction, which was what he’d half been expecting considering their past and the fact that Malfoy was clearly mad at him. He hadn’t even bothered with good morning pleasantries when they’d arrived for work. He had just sat at his desk and ignored Harry until the memo for this meeting dropped on both their desks that afternoon calling for an evening briefing before everyone headed out. Then he’d told Harry he would see him in there and stalked off.

“Potter and Malfoy have been working to track the Succubus’ movements through the city and found it only comes out after sundown, and frequents popular nightclubs and bars for its victims,” Robards said. He spared a breath to eye both Malfoy and Harry, then added, “It took some time to put it all together since the Muggle law enforcement didn’t hand over all their files at once, but Malfoy managed to write up a summary report of all we know about this particular Succubus.”

Robards flicked his wrist, and in front of everyone appeared a red file with the word _Confidential_ stamped across the front in black ink. “Take some time today to go over what Malfoy collected. It is thoroughly researched and organised.”

Harry barely contained his scoff. It was bad enough that he had to listen to Malfoy go on and on about protocol and paperwork, but now that Robards had complimented him, his partner would be insufferable. Not that Harry suffered him much as it were, at least not when he could avoid it. Malfoy was all paperwork and no bite, so when Harry could handle a case alone, he did. If paperwork was all Malfoy cared about, then Harry was glad to let him fill out the reports after Harry caught the bad guy. In Harry’s experience, action is what saves lives… not paperwork.

“This thing doesn’t seem to be sophisticated. The first few kills were spread out by a week, but it seems to be devolving, killing the last two nights in a row. It’s picking high risk targets, barely making an effort to spread out its hunting grounds, and yet… it’s extremely powerful, and as we recently learned, it can deflect certain spells, but fire seems to affect it, or at least piss it off.”

Auror Read’s hand shot up again, but this time he waited for Robards to acknowledge him before he spoke. “Are we sure it’s a Succubus and not a Vampire, sir. Some of the intel could easily point to Vampires, namely the ‘only comes out after dark’ part.”

“No fang marks,” Harry found himself saying. “Oh, and there’s the fact that every victim was shriveled up with all their Life Energy gone.”

Robards brushed the front of his robes flat, and took a breath. “As Auror Potter said, there were no fang marks on the bodies, so that leads us away from Vampires.”

“It just seems odd that a Succubus would suddenly pop up and start killing like this,” Auror Read pushed. “Where has it been all this time? Why now?”

“That’s something we need to figure out before it kills again. If it holds to its pattern, we can expect it to find a new victim tonight. Every previous victim was estimated to have died at or very near 3 a.m., so we’re on a clock, people. We can’t afford to mess this up.”

There were a few quiet murmurs as Aurors looked through their files. Malfoy shot Harry a withering stare that seemed to say ‘mess it up _again_ , he means.’ It made a jolt of anger burn through Harry. Something about Malfoy always made him insane, irrational, and about a million other things. Malfoy challenged him in ways no one else even dared to; he got under his skin faster, and deeper than anyone else he’d ever met. It was infuriating that something as simple as a scowl from Malfoy could set him off making stupid decisions.

Robards held up a hand to silence the soft murmurs in the room. “The most recent death was last night at a popular wizarding nightclub, Pandemonium. Auror Potter was on the scene, a happy accident as it were, and attempted to apprehend the Succubus, but was unsuccessful.”

There was a quiet chorus of shocked _ooo’s_ and _hmm’s_. Robards coughed to quiet them. “It’s all hands on deck now. We need to track this thing down. If we can find it, catch it unawares, then we stand a chance at apprehending it. Use your Lock Box to trap it until it can be dealt with by the Unspeakables. I know it’s a relatively new charm box, but it’s been tested in the field and the extension charm inside the box is about the size of a cell.” Robards kept talking while a few of the Aurors in the room skimmed the file, Ron among them. “That being said, Ada Holcomb, the woman who died last night, her death is on us. All of them are, really, so let’s make sure no one else dies. Don’t try to be a hero. Call for backup.”

Harry could tell Ron reached the description of the Succubus when he let out a low whistle. Harry had to admit, for a demon-witch, she had been hot. Tall, legs that went on forever, and long, raven hair. Not to mention her perfect hourglass shape and the slinky black dress she wore like a second skin. He’d been taken in immediately when he first spotted her at the bar. An impulse had grown in him to talk to her. It was like she’d sucked all the air out of the room and he needed to look her way in order to continue breathing. That’s when he’d realised what she was—who she was—and decided to follow her out of the club. She’d gotten away with Ada Holcomb because he hadn’t been strong enough to resist her magic, the lure of her promise that he wouldn’t have to feel… so much.

He felt a pang of loathing, sour and heavy, settle in his gut at the memory. If he had been faster, stronger, smarter…if he had been the wizard everyone thought he was, then Ada Holcomb wouldn’t be dead. She’d be at home with her husband getting Indian takeaway and settling in for a weekend of errands, or some other very normal-person stuff, but instead… she was dead. Harry hated himself for letting another person die because of his inability to take down the bad guy fast enough. He’d had enough of that for a lifetime.

“Read over the file,” Robards continued, ignoring the rising chatter about the very hot demon killer. “Find her.”

The other Aurors in the room spoke quietly about the file, but Malfoy glared at Harry now with a look that he knew all to well as Malfoy’s ‘my father will hear about this’ face; though with Lucius in Azkaban, Harry didn’t know who Malfoy would run to this time. In a fit of petulance, Harry rolled his eyes, and then promptly ignored him, training his gaze on the map behind Robards. There was something he had overlooked about the Succubus, he was sure of it, but what?

“All right, okay, quiet down,” Robards said, voice barely above a whisper. The murmurs died down. “Thank you. Our potions department has been working on something that will lessen the effects of the Succubus’s power to enthrall people, which should keep all of you focused enough to trap her in a Lock Box,” Robards continued, “Potions Master Parkinson has assured me that it’s nearly done, so before anyone heads out to follow a lead, go down and see her.”

Some of the Aurors stood up, assuming the meeting was over, Harry among them, and as he stood, he saw something on the map that he would never have thought of if he hadn’t been complaining to Ron about Malfoy—the deaths all seemed to line up with a Ley Line leading into a nexus. He wasn’t sure why that was important, not yet, but they were definitely all Ley Lines.

Robards raised his voice and added, “Do not engage without backup.” He paused and eyed Harry seriously. “Make sure you are properly armed and that you inform me before you head out to do any surveillance. We cannot let another person die on our watch. Understood?”

Harry, headache in full swing, nodded goodbye to Ron who was still skimming the file, and made a bee-line for the exit. He needed to look at his map and figure out just what this thing was up to before it killed anyone else.


	3. Draco

It had been a long time since Draco trusted someone—really trusted them, not just outwardly saying “I trust you” while inwardly keeping his options open. Ever since he was a kid, trust was a farce. Trust, as his father used to say, was for fools. A Malfoy can only ever trust themselves. And as much as Draco hated that he still heard his father’s voice in his head even today, it didn’t make it any less accurate. He couldn’t trust that Potter wouldn’t mess things up for him. In the five years since the war, Draco managed to garner a decent reputation for the Malfoy name between his charity work rebuilding the school, and his various donations. The icing on the cake: getting accepted into Auror training. Most people didn’t associate his name with his father’s wrongdoings anymore, but with him, with Draco. He was nearly there, and then a Potter-shaped problem plopped in his lap.

Being partnered with Potter had come as a shock. He’d been expecting to come out of his training and get assigned an older Auror for his probation year like the rest of his class, but instead Minister Shacklebolt insisted they work together—for the sake of post-war unity. In a twisted way, Draco found it an inspired PR tactic that he hadn’t thought the Minister capable of, and yet here he found himself, unable to escape Harry Potter, yet again.

The first week as Potter’s partner had been eye-opening. Draco thought he knew the man who made school so complicated for him, but he quickly realised he was wrong. Yes, he knew parts of Potter. The obvious parts, like his annoying hero streak or his skill on a broom, but as his partner, Draco got to see the less shiny version of the famed Boy Who Lived. The Potter who left crumbs on every piece of paper he touched, the Potter who never tossed out the garbage in the bin, the Potter who didn’t care for protocol one whit. It was this Potter that Draco realised he couldn’t trust. With his history, Draco had to be better, more trustworthy, than any other Auror in the DMLE. It’s why he took his job so seriously. He wouldn’t give anyone a reason to question him.

Draco lamented his pathetic luck as he headed back to his desk. The conference room emptied before he had the patience to get up and face Potter again. When the memo for this morning’s meeting had arrived on his desk, Draco had just known that Potter messed up. He’d warned the dolt that the Succubus was too powerful to approach alone. Yet, did Potter listen? Of course not, he just put on his hero-hat and damned the consequences.

The bull pen was noisy. There were sounds of papers rustling, chairs being pushed out, and conversations being had. Each noise layered on top of one another to create the hum of an office mid-day. To Draco’s surprise, he found his partner at his desk rifling through files and making a mess of the system Draco had only just finished organising yesterday.

Frustrated, Draco said, “You know, you wouldn’t need to make such a mess if you’d just use my system.” He didn’t look at Potter as he pulled his chair out to sit. He gathered the fabric of his robes and made sure to sit so there would be no wrinkles.

The overflow of whatever Potter was doing made its way into Draco’s space. He could see the edge of a file on the most recent study of Life Energy magic and why those who became Succubi had to give up the ability to cast spells or brew potions. And recently meant 1543, before such studies were banned altogether by the Ministry for fear that other witches would learn how to become Succubi and thus pass down the knowledge. Best to snuff it out, erase it from history. That was the wizarding way when it came to any magic deemed dangerous by the powers that be. 

They’d used the Witchcraft Act of 1541 as their guise to hunt down and capture any Succubi they could find, riding on the coat-tails of the very inquisition that hunted their own kind. All in all, it was said the Ministry captured three Succubi in the process. The study, however, was inconclusive as it was shut down and redacted from public record. From what Draco could glean from the old, grumpy archivist down in the stacks, the study was shut down when one of the Succubi broke free and siphoned the Life Energy of thirty Ministry employees.

In true Ministry fashion, they pretended like they hadn’t royally cocked up, and moved on. Draco read the whole file two nights ago and was surprised at how much information was magically redacted from it like all the names of the deceased, for one. Potter had simply shrugged and threw the file haphazardly on Draco’s desk, not caring that all the papers flew out, meaning Draco would have to reorganise them.

It annoyed Draco to admit it, seeing as he would have to spend at least two hours fixing what it took Potter all of ten minutes to mess up, but sitting across from one’s partner made a certain kind of sense. It gave them the space to work without being too hard to reach when they needed to discuss a case, but clearly Potter’s slovenliness had not been taken into consideration when the choice was made. Draco was sure that if whoever came up with the system had a partner like Potter, they would have wanted their desks to be as far apart as possible.

Potter grunted as he tossed a file over onto Draco’s desk. “Map, map. Shite. Where is it?”

Though Draco was positive Potter hadn’t really been asking him, he answered, “Like I said, you wouldn’t have to go through this every time you needed something if you just organised your desk. It’s a wonder you get anything done.”

Potter snapped his head up to meet Draco’s eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days, purple bags stretching out under his eyes. There was a frantic edge to his voice when he spoke. “Should I be more like you and schedule everything down to my next breath, then?”

Embarrassment like a white hot poker ran through Draco. He straightened in his chair and willed himself not to look away. If he broke eye contact with Potter, he would surely begin to tear up, and that was the last thing he needed. Instead, Draco fell back on old habits. “As opposed to your unending spontaneity. Look where that got you last night. You could have called me to go with you to scout the clubs. I told you to call me if you decided to go out, in fact. But you thought ‘I’m Harry Potter, I’m sure I can handle one demon-witch all by my onesies. Piece of cake.’”

“There was no time to call you,” Potter spat his excuse at Draco, the same one he’d been using since they were partnered up. “I had to act before she got away.”

“Ah, yes, but she got away, anyway.” Draco couldn’t help but push it. Potter made him stupid, always had, ever since first year. It only got worse when Draco realised his attraction for Potter, which served to make Draco an even bigger idiot around the man. Most of the time, he could ignore his feelings. He’d accepted long ago that they were ridiculous and would never be reciprocated, so he dealt with them much in the same way one would deal with allergies—understand that they would occasionally consume him, stop him up, and make his life hell, and then treat the symptoms and wait until they went away. It helped that Potter, while being one of the sexiest men Draco had ever seen, was also the most frustrating.

“You know,” Potter said, his voice breaking through Draco’s reverie, “You could have just come to check out the clubs without an invitation from me. Not everything needs to be filed out in triplicate and submitted to Head Auror Robards for approval. I wouldn’t have trusted that you’d call me, I would’ve just been there. Paperwork isn’t our job, catching bad guys is.”

“Actually, things do need to be submitted to Robards,” Draco snapped. His frustration bubbling up his throat. Potter didn’t have to be careful the way Draco did, not when he was the wizarding world’s savior. “Are you saying I should be more like you, then? An Auror who doesn’t know the difference between an M-123 form and an M-342? An Auror who ignores protocol and goes out without his partner to face a dangerous criminal and almost gets himself killed?”

“I didn’t ‘almost get killed.’ I got sucker-punched and she got away. And you cling to your precious protocol with such desperation you can’t see that it makes you a weaker Auror, unwilling to do the hard work when needed.”

“Without me following protocol, you’d be on probation faster than you can say ‘filing system.’ Try being a hero Auror then.”

“Are you kidding me?” Potter laughed. It was one of those bitter, ‘I’m better than you and I know it’ laughs. The kind that held derision and contempt. “I was doing just fine before they saddled me with you.”

“Just fine? You call not being able to keep a partner for more than a few months just fine? You’ve had more partners in two years than most of the department’s had in fifteen.” Draco was getting dangerously close to pissing Potter off, and he knew it. Bringing up Potter’s recent stream of partners, all of whom begged for reassignment because of how difficult Potter was to work with, was a surefire way to set him off, but Draco was tired of tip-toeing around Potter’s moods.

“I’m better off alone anyway,” Harry snapped.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Draco retorted. He wanted to snap back with an insult, really give it to Potter good because he was pissed off at his partner’s reckless behavior, but then that’s what he always did, and it wasn’t getting Draco anywhere. Each time they argued, he felt Potter closing off more and more. And while that hadn’t mattered in school when they didn’t need to work together, now it was less than ideal. How would he ever become a trusted Auror if he couldn’t make it work with the first partner they ever assigned him to? And their Golden Boy to boot?

So on the fly, Draco decided to switch tactics. “I get it, you know, but what happened to Thomas wasn’t your fault. He saved your life, Potter, which is what partners do. You would have done exactly the same thing for him, and don’t even pretend you wouldn’t.” Draco said the words hoping it wasn’t a stupid idea to bring Dean Thomas’s death into it, but everyone knew that’s why Potter had been so difficult to work with, even if Potter himself didn’t see it.

The air around them crackled with power, then it fizzled out. Potter scowled, so Draco put his hands up in defense. “All I’m saying is, pushing away every partner they assign you isn’t going to bring Thomas back.”

“And who says that’s what I’m doing?” Potter asked, some of his earlier anger replaced with something else, something sadder. “Maybe they were all just incompetent, or maybe I just work better alone.”

“Potter, really?”

Potter clenched his jaw and his fists. “Can we just drop this, Malfoy? I’m not in the mood.”

“Fine, but one more thing first,” Draco paused, waiting for Potter to acknowledge him. Potter sighed, but nodded. Cleary Potter responded better to this tactic than Draco’s usual ‘let’s trade insults until one of us really gets pissed’ tactic. “I’m not asking for reassignment, so maybe we can cut with the lone hero act just a bit? I’m sticking with you no matter how annoying you get, so you’ll just have to get used to having me around. Think you can manage that?”

There was a long, eternal moment before Potter grunted in response.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Draco smirked at his partner. The switch in tactics worked, he’d have to remember that. It wasn’t perfect, but that was the most civil exchange they’d had since becoming partners. Progress is progress.

Conversation over, Potter turned his attention back on the files. He flipped through them, presumably looking for his map. He tossed another file onto Draco’s desk and pulled a few more out of his bottom drawer and began flicking through them frantically. Draco rolled his eyes because if Potter would just get off his high horse and ask, he could have told Potter that the map he was searching for was in the top drawer of Draco’s desk where it belonged, and they could have avoided all of this mess.

Potter let out a frustrated growl that startled Raul, the Minister’s secretary, as he walked past. The poor bloke dropped his file and almost dropped the coffee he carried with it. To add to the already alarming display of masculinity, Potter slammed his fist down on the table and said, “Where’s that damned map?”

Again, he wasn’t really asking Draco, but that was beside the point now. For the sake of all future passers by, Draco opened his top drawer and pulled out the correct file. It was right on top labeled _Locations of Recent Deaths_. He took the file and held it up. “You mean this one?”

Potter stood up out of his chair and leaned across their desks to snatch it out of his hand. “Merlin, you’re such a prick sometimes.”

Draco, hoping to lighten the mood a bit, plastered his best lopsided grin across his face and said, “You say the sweetest things, partner.”

“You’re a pain in the arse, anyone ever tell you that?” Potter asked, opening the folder. Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders as he rested back in his chair.

“Hmm, you know what? I think you might have told me once or twice. Or was it three times? Memory’s a bit foggy.”

That made Potter laugh. Actually laugh. Okay, so it was a chuckle, but still. Draco felt the muscles of his cheeks fighting off his own smile. Potter had laughed _at_ him plenty, but this wasn’t a laugh at his expense, and it made Draco’s heart flutter stupidly. Seemed like it was allergy season again.

“I knew it,” Potter said after a few moments of silent perusal of the map in question. “I knew there had to be a pattern. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”

Draco, in spite of himself, wanted to know what pattern Potter spoke of and so said, “Do tell, Potter. I’m on the edge of my seat.”

Potter, stood, walked to stand next to Draco’s seat and slammed the file open onto his desk. He gave Draco a smug look that screamed ‘see...I can be clever, too.’ Their proximity was dizzying, but Draco managed to swallow the rising tide of lust, and focus on the map.

It was the same map that had been behind Robards in the conference room, only smaller. All of the recent death locations were marked in red. Potter picked up one of Draco’s quills _without asking_ , dipped it in ink, and began to trace the dots until Draco saw the pattern emerge. When connected, the locations where the bodies were found made lines that criss-crossed over one spot.

“She’s trying to cast a spell using the bodies, the sacrifices, as points on the Ley Lines to boost a spell. Oddly, it’s kind of brilliant seeing as she doesn’t have any inherent magic of her own to use. And do you see what’s in the middle of all that?” Potter asked, voice deep and full of passion. His eyes were like Greek fire; a deep blazing green that threatened to burn through the remnants of Draco’s resolve.

“White Rose Cemetery, but why is she trying to cast? Succubi can’t do magic the way we can. It’s part of what they give up. There’s no way a spell works for her even with the power boost of the Ley Lines.” Draco was surprised at how hoarse he sounded in the face of Potter’s excitement.

He felt that ache return as he watched Potter bite his bottom lip in concentration. It came up from the depths like a treasure washing ashore after years being lost in the ocean. The ache to push Potter’s always wild fringe out of his face. The ache that made his body feel warm when Potter looked at him. He’d managed to banish those urges many times before, but faced with Potter’s strength, his passion, even his pig-headedness, it was all Draco could do to keep from panting like a crup in heat.

Potter snatched up the map. “I don’t have time to sit around and theorise just now, but I agree, there’s no way normal magic works, but Ley Lines are different, ancient. Maybe it found a way to tap into them. I don’t know, but I do know it will definitely kill again tonight. There aren’t any more Ley Lines that need activating before… what? Wh—why are you looking at me like that?”

Draco blanched. He’d been staring, he knew he’d been staring, but he couldn’t help himself. Potter looked wild, dangerous, with his hair mussed as it always was, and his jaw clenched in determination. “You memorised the Ley Lines in London? You know things about Ley Lines?”

Potter let a sheepish grin spread across his face that nearly made Draco melt into his shoes. “Hermione, she, uh, she made me memorise it, and once something is up there,” he said pointing to his temple, “it stays. It was just lucky Ron and I were talking about it today, or I might not have noticed at all.”

“We need to tell Robards about this.”

Harry groaned. “This is why I never tell you anything. People are in danger. The sun is starting to set. She likely only needs one more sacrifice to activate the nexus. All the Ley Lines are accounted for, so all that’s left is where they all cross. Are we supposed to let someone die while we wait around for him to give us the go ahead?”

Draco straightened his back, swallowed the retort about protocol he’d been about to say for the sake of progress, and instead, he said, “No, of course not, we can send him a letter from the Potions lab. That way, we can tell him our theory, and get the potion at the same time.”

Harry eyed him curiously, then said, “Okay, okay…grab your Lock Box, and let’s go.”

Draco had a moment to consider every reason why he shouldn’t follow after the man who managed to complicate even his breakfast orders before he opened his drawer, grabbed his Auror standard Lock Box, and jogged after Potter.

__

The Potions lab at the Ministry was, similarly to Hogwarts, in the basement, though that’s where the similarities stopped. Where Hogwarts was all gothic—high ceilings, dim lighting, and old dusty books—the Ministry’s potions lab was clinical with white walls, hard metal counters, and more conventional equipment that didn’t look like it had been used in the Middle Ages.

Draco was practically out of breath after jogging from the elevator. Potter had made a run for it as soon as the door opened and didn’t stop until he was skidding past the Potions lab door. Now, Potter was catching his breath as he waved his map at the Potions Master on duty, Pansy Parkinson, Draco’s dearest friend.

To her credit, Pansy stood patiently waiting for them to catch their respective breaths. Her hair was cut in a severe bob that highlighted the sharp edges of her jaw. She wore a white lab coat over a plum purple A-line dress with lace pantyhose and staggeringly high heels that made her look smart, but also like she would take a whip to you if you got naughty.

“We...uh...need...potion,” Potter managed to get out between ragged breaths. He leaned back on the metal counter, and fanned himself with the file. His cheeks flushed pink, making Draco’s heart skip a beat, though that could also be from the running.

“Well, you have come to the right place. We happen to have lots of potions here, Auror Potter. Anything in particular?” Pansy managed to come across helpful, but Draco knew better. The more polite she sounded, the more likely it was that she was moments away from taking your head off.

Potter didn’t know her well, so he took her at her word and said, “Actually, yes. I need the potion Robards said you were working on. The Succubus one.”

“ _We_. He means we,” Draco added. He eyed Pansy and she gave him the merest raise of a brow to indicate that she wanted to know why Draco had let himself get roped into running all the way down to the lab for a potion that was not yet ready.

“Fine, yes, _we_ need the potion.” Potter glanced at Draco and rolled his eyes, then turned his attention back on Pansy. “Robards said you were nearly done with it. I was hoping it was ready now.”

Pansy licked her bottom lip, put down the file in her hand, and walked around the metal work table that held all manner of bubbling potions, some blue, other’s a sickly yellow, a few of them a verdant green that reminded Draco of Potter’s eyes. She came to stand directly in front of Potter and said, “It’s not ready. I told Robards we need another day to test the effects on a human subject.”

“We’ll be your human subjects. We can test it in the field.” Potter’s sounded frantic again. Draco hadn’t bothered to wonder why Potter was so hellbent on finding the map before because he was more focused on how unorganised his partner was and how badly that reflected on Draco. But now, under the aggressive bright lights in the lab, Draco saw it; Potter was upset, and like any wizard with a savior complex, he clearly blamed himself for the most recent woman’s death. Silly that Draco hadn’t noticed it before. It was classic Potter.

Still, Draco couldn’t stop himself saying, “Don’t be foolish. There’s no telling the side effects.”

Pansy scoffed, and said at the same time, “No way. I’m not going to be responsible if you grow a third ear or hump a lamppost because I gave you an unfinished potion.”

She had a point. If something went wrong, it would be on her, and like Draco, Pansy had spent the better part of the last five years undoing all the damage her family and the war had done. Nothing mattered to her more than regaining some semblance of a reputation.

“This is bigger than possible third ears, Parkinson. A woman died last night. I was there, I couldn’t stop it because of that thing's stupid powers. I won’t sit around while it takes another life.”

Pansy turned to Draco and made a face that said ‘talk some sense into your partner before I hit him with a Bat-Bogey Hex.’ If Draco were a smarter man, he wouldn’t push the subject and he would let Potter run off and be the rash, pig-headed hero he was born to be, but deep down, Draco knew he wouldn’t stop Potter. And he certainly wouldn’t let him run into a Succubus den without backup either.

“Pans, we can sign waiver M-78, relieving you of all liability if the potion has unexpected effects. Not that there will be any. We all know your potion brewing is second to none. It will be fine. We need to stop this thing soon, before more people get hurt.”

Potter made a low sound in his throat, halfway between a grunt and a soft _hmm_. He eyed Draco suspiciously, his dangerous green eyes searching Draco’s face. It was enough to make Draco forget Pansy was in the room.

“Fine, but Robards needs to sign it first, and you should tell him what’s going on. What _is_ going on anyway?”

“Agreed,” Potter said, giving Pansy his best hero-smile. “Malfoy and I were just about to send him word about our theory anyway, so that works out well. It looks like she’s using Ley Line magic.”

Pansy’s eyebrows shot up in apparent interest. “Hmm, that’s oddly clever of you to work out, Potter. Most wizards forget that Ley Lines are even there since there’s so much ambient magic about.”

Potter smiled sheepishly. “Having a friend like Hermione comes in handy sometimes.”

“I’ll say,” Pansy answered, clearly impressed by Potter. Draco felt an odd pang of jealousy even though he knew it was unfounded. Pansy didn’t date men, and even if she did, Potter wasn’t her type.

“So, can we do this?” Potter asked eagerly.

“I’ll… send it up to him now.” Pansy eyed Potter for a moment and then smirked at Draco before going over to a filing cabinet. She flicked through until she found the form she was looking for, pulled it out and placed it on her desk. With her quill in hand, she began filling it out. After a moment, she sighed and said, “Hold on, I need to go get my boss's signature, too. I’ll just be a minute.” And then she was out the door.

Meanwhile, Potter still eyed Draco suspiciously. He leaned in closer and whispered, “Why are you being so helpful all of a sudden? Any other day you’d have fought me about protocol.”

“Because…” Draco considered saying ‘because I want this partnership to work out,’ but he decided on, “We are partners, and that’s what partners do.”

That didn’t seem to satisfy Potter. He bit his bottom lip in a devastatingly handsome way that made the hair on Draco’s arms stand up. “But you said this was foolish.”

“It is.”

“So then, why help?”

“You’re my partner, Potter. Like it or not, that means I will help you even when you don’t want my help. Plus, you’re right, the Succubus will kill again tonight, and we need to stop it before it does. You were already going to do this, so no sense in arguing and wasting time. I think I finally learned that lesson as your partner. And this way, I will at least be there to help this time.”

Before Potter could respond, Pansy was back in the room. She flicked her wrist and sent the paperwork off to Robards. “While we wait for his signature, let’s talk about how the potion works.”

“Good,” Potter said.

“The potion works much the same way as any vaccination would. We have used the essence of a Succubus we had from the 1500’s to create a potion that works as a mental block to their specific brand of compulsion. Normal Occlumency isn’t enough. We don’t know why, but their magic is able to break through mental walls, so this potion, made from their essence, will hopefully keep them from taking you into their thrall by amping up an already existing attraction.”

Draco felt his face get hot. He pulled on the collar of his robes. Suddenly the room felt smaller. “Can you elaborate?”

Another knowing look crossed Pansy’s face. Only she knew about Draco’s asinine feelings for Potter, and only because she stole his diary in fourth year and read a rather embarrassing section where Draco gushed about Potter’s eyes ad nauseam. Eventually she said, “Succubus magic is Life Magic, it’s Death Magic, but it’s also Sex Magic. If they can’t trap you in their seduction, then they are weaker and less able to siphon your Life Energy, so we calculated the best way to keep from melting into a pile of lust at their feet was to use an already existing attraction as a shield.”

Potter nodded. “Makes sense. Blocking the attraction to the thing with something else. Okay, good, but what if you’re not attracted to anyone?”

Pansy tilted her head to the side and gave him a look that screamed ‘seriously,’ but professional as always, she answered, “I assure you, everyone has at least one attraction somewhere in their subconscious. Even if you’re unaware of it, the potion will latch onto the attraction and bring it to the forefront.”

Potter nodded. “Oh, okay. Good, good.”

Pansy held up a hand. “Even if I had time to test the potion, there would still be some expected side effects, and casting will take more focus than usual.”

“Side effects like?” Potter asked.

“Like heightened sensitivity to touch, or becoming easily aroused. Remember puberty and how even a strong wind could get your knickers in a twist? Well, it’s that times a thousand.” Pansy didn’t let the awkward subject stop her from getting her point across. “It has the potential to be worse if the person you’re attracted to is near you when the potion is in effect, or if you are somehow blocking or denying said attraction.” She took a moment to eye Draco.

Draco cleared his throat, and immediately regretted it because Potter turned to look at him. There was a moment that lasted an eternity while Potter searched his face, then finally turned back to Pansy. Draco let out a breath he’d been holding and swallowed. He was in serious trouble if that potion was even half as strong as Pansy claimed. 

“That won’t be a problem. No blocking here,” Potter said, his voice a bit unsure. Or at least, Draco could have sworn he sounded unsure, but then again, that was wishful thinking on his part.

“Even so, the effects can be rather distracting, Potter.” Pansy put her hands on her hips. She was ready to snap at him, Draco could see it in her eyes. “Like I said, it takes that existing attraction and brings it to the forefront. If you have accepted that attraction, you will be in better control of the effects, but if not...”

Draco was saved from further explanation when the returning form flew in with an adjoining letter. Pansy grabbed them out of the air and unfolded the form. She placed it on the table nearest Potter and motioned for him to sign it. Potter did so without hesitation.

“Letter is from Robards. He says he is sending a few teams out to any clubs or bars that fall on a Ley Line and to be careful and call for backup this time if you spot the Succubus. He underlined that part three times.” Pansy folded the letter and handed it to Potter. He took it and nodded, but didn’t read it.

Draco took up the quill after Potter placed it down next to the form. A huge part of him was screaming ‘don’t do this, he will figure out your secret.’ If he thought being Potter’s partner was difficult now, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like working with him if Potter found out how Draco felt about him. It was almost enough to make him back down.

“I understand if you’re too scared or proper or whatever,” Potter said, interrupting Draco’s inner agonising, “but I’m doing this. With or without you makes no difference to me.”

That was it. Draco was tired of Potter always assuming the worst in him just because he was cautious. He took the quill and scribbled his signature on the line under Potter’s. More than anything, Draco wanted Potter to think him worthy. He had since they met that first day in Madam Malkins. He wanted it even more than he wanted Potter to use a coaster.

Pansy took the form and filed it away in its proper place before moving to a glass cabinet and taking out two phials of a red liquid. “Drink this, and hopefully you’ll be immune. Give it like five minutes to kick in, and if it works it should give you about seven hours of use.”

Potter took his and uncorked it. “Thanks, Parkinson.” He swigged it back in one gulp and said ‘Ahh’ before heading out of the lab without Draco.

Everything in Draco screamed to run, but he uncorked his phial and swallowed it down. It tasted like strawberries and toothpaste. An odd flavor combination, but not unpleasant. “Thanks, Pans.”

Draco moved toward the door to chase after his partner, but Pansy grabbed his forearm. She gave him a soft, concerned look. “You need to be more careful than him. You’ve had feelings for him for a long time. That could manifest in the potion in unforeseen ways.”

“Or it could mean my shield will be stronger,” Draco countered.

Pansy gave him a long suffering look. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

“I promise.” Draco smiled at his friend and patted her hand on his arm. “Safety is my middle name, after all.” That made her laugh and she released him. With one last smile, he was bounding down the hall to catch the elevator wondering how in Tartarus he was going to keep his cool around Potter.


	4. Harry

An odd feeling of calm washed over Harry as the potion settled. The line for a Portkey was long but moving quick enough. They could Apparate—in fact, Malfoy had suggested it for expediency—but Harry knew it would be too dangerous for him after the Succubus feasted on his Life Energy. He wasn’t fully recovered, so it would be like Apparating drunk and blind, he would splinch for sure. And since he couldn’t tell Malfoy the truth, because he would undoubtedly cite protocol and insist that Harry see a healer before they went out, he lied and said it would be better to save their energy for a potential fight. It wasn’t a total lie anyway, he _did_ need to save his energy.

So Portkey it was, even though he hated the gut-wrenching feeling.

Harry tried to focus on the task at hand, but the magic moving through him was distracting. It warmed his stomach as if he’d just finished off a hot cocoa near the fire. Then, as if hit with ice-cold water, he felt suddenly awake. He could feel every nerve ending. All the places his clothes touched his skin felt like someone was tickling him with feathers. He had to contain the resulting giggle.

Next to him, Malfoy fidgeted with his collar. His slender pale fingers slipping between his neck and the fabric of his robes. The skin of his throat was red, either from his constant fidgeting with the collar, or in reaction to the potion. Every time the line moved, Malfoy looked down at his feet and walked as if he were blindfolded and trying not to trip.

“ _Bollocks_ ,” Malfoy cursed under his breath when he accidentally brushed against the person ahead of them in line. He sighed and looked around at everything except Harry, which Harry found odd because ever since they were eleven, it was a guarantee that wherever Harry looked, his eyes would eventually find Malfoy’s looking back at him.

This was the first time Harry could remember getting to look at Malfoy uninterrupted in a long time. Malfoy’s usually calm, uptight exterior seemed to be slipping away under the effects of the potion. Harry even thought that his hair seemed less tame than it had back in the lab. Where it was usually painstakingly styled to stay out of his face, now it fell forward in strands, some falling in front of his eyes, reminding Harry of the tragic heartthrob Jack Dawson in _Titanic_ —if Jack Dawson had been rich and spoiled, that is. Malfoy certainly had the tragic heartthrob part down, at least. Harry didn’t know if it was the potion or what, but with his hair a bit messy and his pale cheeks holding a pink hue, Malfoy looked… _sexy_.

_Oh, hell no_. 

Harry’s heart pounded like a fist against his rib cage. Was Malfoy the _him_ the Succubus had mentioned? It had to be, even though Harry couldn’t remember ever actually thinking about Malfoy while he was touching himself. Sure, there was that one time after Malfoy got assigned to him when they were dueling in the training rooms and Malfoy kicked his arse but good. He’d wanked in the showers after, thinking about their fight. But that didn’t mean...did it?

Harry swallowed hard, his arousal coursing through him like wind in a tunnel. Okay, okay, so there _was_ that one time, but he couldn’t think of any other...okay, maybe last week he might have wanked off in the loo after seeing Malfoy eating some fresh fruit, but that hadn’t been directly connected to Malfoy. It was just the way he ate the fruit, slow, savouring every bite, and—Merlin fucking fuck, was he attracted to Malfoy?

“Watch it,” Malfoy snapped at someone in the line next to them as they bumped his elbow. He recoiled from the touch, pulling into himself like a scared hermit crab. He took three deep breaths, then looked straight ahead.

“You okay?” Harry found himself unable to avoid asking the question. At that moment, nothing seemed more interesting than whatever was going through Malfoy’s head.

Malfoy didn’t look at him, but nodded. “Just the potion settling.”

“Are you still up for this?” Harry asked, an edge to his voice that he hadn’t entirely meant, at least hadn’t meant it towards Malfoy. He knew he had made a mistake going after that thing last night without backup. He could have easily called Malfoy and they could have gone after it together, but he didn’t like the idea of needing anyone, not after he got so many people killed in the war, not after Dean. And now a woman was dead because of his arrogance.

“Of course, Potter. I can handle anything you can.” Malfoy still refused to look him in the eye, now staring down at his shoes. “I'm good at my job. I _like_ my job. You’d know that if you’d let me do more than file your paperwork and chase after you like a lost crup. You’re not the only one who cares about solving this case. Or any case, for that matter.”

“That’s—that’s not what I meant.”

“Right, of course not. Perfect Potter never meant to imply that I was inferior to him in any way. That’s why you constantly ask for my opinions on cases, respect my decisions, and inform me when you’re chasing down leads, right? That’s why you called me last night for backup when you went after that thing. Because you think I am so capable.”

“Malfoy,” Harry started to say, but Malfoy cut him off. 

“Let’s just focus on the case, Potter.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but he was at a loss.

“There’s still some stuff we need to discuss.” Malfoy looked at him now, his smoke-grey eyes bloodshot. “Like, are we simply going to do recon?”

“If we find her, I’m going to capture her. End of story.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Robards said to call for backup. So _we’re_ going to do that before _we_ engage, right?”

Harry sighed. The potion made him feel like he was sinking and flying all at once, and it was distracting. He thought about it a moment and considered telling Malfoy he’d call for backup _if_ there was time, but not if someone was in immediate danger, but lying was simpler, so he said, “Yes, we will call for backup.”

His partner gave him a curt nod and said, “It’s still bothering me that she’s trying to cast. Why is she trying to do magic? She has to know it won’t work.”

“She’s desperate,” Harry found himself saying. His conversation with the Succubus the night before was still a bit hazy, like he was seeing it through gauze, but he remembered some of the things she’d said. “She told me she wasn’t a picky eater anymore.”

“Picky eater?” Malfoy asked, his eyes widening. He seemed to mull that over, his brow furrowing in thought. That paired with the tragic heartthrob vibe, and Harry felt a warmth growing in his stomach at the sight of his partner.

“Well,” Harry said, clearing his throat, “she eats Life Energy, right?”

Malfoy nodded at him. He was still wearing his ‘thinking face’ when he said, “Right.”

“So, some Life Energy must taste better than others, like say wizards versus Muggles, and if she’s not a picky eater anymore…” Harry trailed off, letting Malfoy put the pieces together.

His partner’s eyes widened, and he smiled in satisfaction. “That means she’s desperate for Life Energy, and desperate people will try anything… like casting a spell using Ley Line energy to boost it even when they have no innate magic of their own.”

“Exactly.” Without thinking, he clapped a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, a friendly gesture that he often traded with Ron, but when his hand made contact with Malfoy, a white-hot fire shot through him like a shooting star, and Harry felt himself swimming in his own arousal. It was almost as overwhelming as the Succubus’ magic had been, only he knew he was in control this time. He moved his hand away slowly, but missed the contact immediately.

Malfoy’s smile abruptly shifted into a frown. It was so sudden, Harry wondered if he’d said something offensive and somehow missed it in his heady, aroused state. He opened his mouth to ask, but then the line moved forward and they were next up. The witch behind the counter looked up and gasped when she saw him. “Oh, Mr Potter, Auror Potter, sir, how may I help you?”

Malfoy grunted and said, “Portkey to whatever is closest to White Rose Cemetery.”

The witch, whose name tag read Angela, looked at Malfoy cautiously and turned her eyes back to Harry. “For two?”

“Obviously,” Malfoy snapped. He pulled at his collar again, unbuttoning the top button.

“Will you be returning the same way?” Angela asked, her voice a bit more timid after Malfoy’s tone.

“Probably,” Harry said before Malfoy could say anything else rude to the poor witch who was just doing her job. It was just like Malfoy to take his anger out on undeserving people. If he was mad at Harry, then he should just say it. Clearly, Malfoy was still the same old uptight, rule-following prick he’s always been. Today, all the ‘partners help each other’ crap and the attraction thing, was a total fluke. Clearly, Pansy’s potion was wonky; he wasn’t attracted to Malfoy.

Angela smiled one of those awkward half-smiles that said, ‘I’m uncomfortable, but I’m trying hard not to be rude,’ then handed them an old-fashioned silver mirror. The glass on it was tarnished with age and cracked in places, but the silver looked polished. It had intricate filigree details on it that made Harry want to know who’d owned it. Probably someone rich like Malfoy.

“When both of you hold the mirror it will activate. Have a wonderful day,” Angela said and then looked behind them to the next people in line. “Next?”

Harry, mirror in one hand, grabbed Malfoy by his arm and dragged him away from the front of the line. The instant his hand made contact with Malfoy, he felt his pulse quicken and that feather-like sensation returned with a vengeance. Where his hand rested on Malfoy’s forearm felt like fire, but it didn’t burn—it warmed, it smoldered. It made him _hard_.

Malfoy must have felt something, too, because he tore his arm out of Harry’s grip and said, “Let’s get this over with.”

Harry was too shocked to care that Malfoy sounded sad, not angry. His whole body kept reacting to simple touches. He couldn’t imagine what kissing someone on this potion would feel like if a touch made him feel like this.

“Earth to Potter?” Malfoy snapped. “Can we do this before the potion wears off? I’d rather not become lunch for a hungry Succubus.”

Harry shook off the image of his lips on Malfoy’s with greater effort than he would ever admit to anyone. “Right, let’s go.”

He held out the mirror for Malfoy, who made sure to keep his hand as far away from Harry’s as he possibly could, touching the tip of the mirror. And then with a gut-wrenching yank, they were off.


	5. Draco

Dizzy from Portkey travel and the blasted potion coursing through his veins, Draco steadied himself on the brick wall of the alleyway where they landed. It was slick from the earlier rainstorm. They were a foot away from a dumpster that thankfully smelled like coffee grounds and not rotten fish.

As soon as he had taken the potion, Draco knew he was in trouble. On a good day, he had no trouble pushing away his attraction to Potter, ignoring it until he could go home and indulge the fantasy. But today wasn’t a good day. He could hardly focus around Potter as it was, and if Potter kept touching him, Draco knew he would lose it. The second Potter’s hand made contact with his shoulder, the warmth in Draco’s gut surged and he grew erect. He hadn’t gotten hard that fast since third year.

“Cock and balls,” Potter grunted as he leaned back on the brick wall next to Draco. He pushed his glasses up with his index and thumb to pinch his nose. “Portkeys always suck, but was it as bad for you as it was for me? I felt like I was being flayed alive. This potion is no joke.”

Draco, already feeling vulnerable, didn’t want to give Potter anymore reason to think him incapable, so he lied. “It felt the same as always, Potter. Maybe the potion is affecting you more.”

Potter, still pinching his nose, laughed. “Fuck. Remind me to never underestimate Parkinson’s warnings again. I mean, she said it would make us touch-sensitive, but Merlin’s tits, even leaning on this wall feels overwhelming.”

Draco looked away from Potter, though it took great effort. He could still see Potter out of the corner of his eye, and even though they were a foot apart, Draco practically felt the heat of Potter’s body on him.

“Get yourself together, Potter. We have a Succubus to find.” Draco wanted nothing more than to stand there and watch the pulse in Potter’s neck as his heart beat, watching his chest heave up with each strained breath, but Draco also knew that the longer he let himself indulge in those feelings, the worse the potion would affect him, and he was already having a hard enough time ignoring how his body reacted to Potter.


	6. Harry

The cemetery was a half a mile from where the Portkey dropped them, so after Harry caught his breath, he started to walk towards the sidewalk where people bustled about their day. Many carried umbrellas with them since it was scheduled to storm again in the evening.

“Potter, don’t be daft,” Malfoy called to him from behind, his voice sounding groggy as if he’d just awoken from a nap. He pulled out his wand. Even from a foot away, Harry still felt the magic of Malfoy’s Hawthorn wand call to him. He’d used it during the war and returned it to Malfoy after his trial cleared him. It seemed the wand still liked him. He often wondered if Malfoy hated that his wand had worked for Harry.

“What?” Harry asked in a whisper. There were plenty of people that could see Malfoy with his wand. It was bad enough that they were still in their robes; they didn’t need to stand out anymore.

“Merlin, I thought Granger was kidding when she said you Muggle-raised sometimes forget to use magic since you grew up without it.”

Harry blanched. He hadn’t forgotten about the charm, not really, he just didn’t think of it since he knew casting it wouldn’t be possible. Thankfully, Malfoy supplied him with the perfect excuse for his odd behavior. “What do you mean?”

“ _Honestly_.” Malfoy shook his head and with a flick of his wrist, he cast a Disillusionment Charm, and Harry felt the magic settle over them. Even that felt like a caress along his spine, and he shivered under the warmth of Malfoy’s magic.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Harry lied. Usually he would have said something defensive, hurled an insult Malfoy’s way, but the potion and the Succubus’ words had him off kilter. That, and Malfoy’s annoyingly rosy cheeks.

Malfoy sucked in his bottom lip and sighed with what looked like great effort. “You were, but you were thinking about the Succubus, not about the small technical stuff. Subtlety isn't really your strong suit, is it?”

“Not really, no,” he admitted, shocking himself. He blamed the potion because it picked that moment to make him notice the sharp angle of Malfoy’s jaw and the pale slope of his neck that Harry wanted to drag his lips across. He had to swallow the groan that threatened to rise up out of him.

“Then it’s lucky that it _is_ mine.” Malfoy sounded smug, but Harry saw the look of shock on his face, brief as it was, before he replaced it with a cocksure smirk.

“Suppose so,” Harry agreed, and turned to the busy sidewalk, feeling comforted by Malfoy’s magic all around him, and replaying the Succubus’ words.

__

The sun broke through the clouds just as they made it to the entrance of the cemetery. For a moment, Harry let the sun warm his face, eyes shut, then he took in the area around them.

The cemetery was old. That much was apparent from its grandiose stone and iron gateway. It was also one of the few wizarding cemeteries in the middle of London, so the fact that it was a nexus of Ley Lines wasn’t at all surprising. The stone was covered in ivy, giving the whole thing a gothic, mystic feel. Staring at the gate, Harry almost felt like once he stepped through them, he would be stepping into another realm. There were all manner of tombstones, some newer made from granite or slick stone, but most were made from old stone and had partial names and faded dates on them.

“I see someone who looks like they work here.” Malfoy pointed to a man in a green jumpsuit who was pulling up some weeds near one of the newer graves. “We should ask him if he’s seen anything odd. Narrow down a location where the Succubus might be hiding out while she completes activating the Ley Lines. She’d stay close by.”

“What makes you say that?”

Malfoy shrugged. “That's what I would do if I was collecting ambient magic on a nexus. I wouldn’t want to be too far from all that power.”

Harry nodded. “Good point.”

Malfoy’s mouth hung open like a fish’s. “Thanks?”

The iron gate creaked when they pushed it open. Harry had to ignore the surge of lust that hit him when Malfoy’s elbow brushed against his as they stepped through, but since he was expecting it now, he managed to lean into the feeling, making it a little more manageable.

The weeding man looked up at the noise and smiled. “Can I help you?” His voice was sweet, soft. It matched the smile he wore. The man looked a bit older than them, maybe in his late thirties. He was starting to go gray around his hairline, but it suited his face.

Malfoy was the one who answered. “Yes, you work here, correct?” He extended a hand for the man, who stood up and removed his work glove to take Malfoy’s hand.

If the touch affected Malfoy at all, Harry couldn’t tell, and that sort of bothered him. Here he was a live wire, and Malfoy was fine all of a sudden? Hardly seemed fair.

The man shook once and released. “I’m Ned. I tend the grounds here. And you two are Aurors then?”

“We are,” Malfoy said, with a hint of amusement in his voice. “What gave it away? The ghastly robes?”

Ned smiled his soft smile at Malfoy. “That and the whole walking in like you own the place. Aurors tend to do that. Plus, I’m a Squib. No magic myself, but I can spot a wizard a mile away just fine.” He ended with a wink that was both charming and innocent.

“Well then, Ned, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Auror Malfoy and this is my partner, Auror Potter. We were hoping you could help us.”

Ned whistled. “Malfoy and Potter. ‘Course you are. Should have known with that hair of yours. I’ve read about you both in the papers. Big shots, both of you. I read that article they wrote about you and your mother’s work with the endangered magical species charity. Great piece on you, and Auror Malfoy, I must say, the pictures they print of you barely do you any justice at all.”

“Thank you...I think. Anyway, as I said, we could use your help. Have you noticed anything odd around the last month or so?”

Ned watched Malfoy intently, and for a moment Harry wondered if he could get away with hexing this guy’s smile off his stupid face. Harry clenched his jaw while he watched Ned’s eyes rake up and down Malfoy’s body. Tension coiled around Harry’s gut, and he clenched his wand. He was being ridiculous, wasn’t he? This guy could flirt with Malfoy. What did he care?

Except that he did, he really did. Merlin, _he did_? Parkinson’s potion was really messing with him because he felt like he should be the only one allowed to look at his partner like that, only he couldn’t remember exactly when he’d started feeling that way. Had it been before the Succubus? Before the potion?

“Strange how?” Ned finally answered, his eyes still glued to Malfoy. 

“Strange as in _strange_.” Malfoy turned to face Potter and raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘do something.’

“Has anything shown up dead that isn’t supposed to be here?” Harry asked, clarifying Malfoy’s point.

Ned turned to him as if he'd just realised Harry was there. “You mean like critters?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, like that. Or is there a section of grass that you can’t seem to keep green? Anything like that.”

Ned looked back and forth between Malfoy and Harry. “Back by the mausoleums there’s been an unusual amount of dead birds falling from the trees, if that’s what you mean.” 

It was clear Ned was interested in Malfoy, and Harry hated it. He was five seconds away from grabbing Malfoy by the arm and tugging him away from that man’s stupid gaze. It was pure willpower that kept him from acting on his impulse. 

“Thank you, we’re going to go check that out,” Malfoy said.

Ned put a hand up to block Malfoy from passing him. “Wait, uh, this is going to sound very forward, and it is, but how would you react if I asked you out?”

Malfoy looked like a deer in headlights. He blinked furiously for a moment and then his brain seemed to catch up with him. “Was that you asking me out?”

Ned smiled. “It sounded much smoother in my head.”

Malfoy sucked in a deep breath. “Sorry, no. Thank you, but I...” He turned his head slightly toward Harry.

“Already have someone,” Ned finished for him, eyeing Harry from over Malfoy’s shoulder. “I should have figured as much. Someone as gorgeous as you couldn’t be single.”

Malfoy smiled at Ned. “Have a nice evening,” he said, moving around the caretaker and taking off towards the stone path that led to the mausoleums at the back.

When Malfoy was out of earshot, Ned said to Harry, “Sorry, I didn’t realise you two were...well hey, you miss all the shots you don’t take. Hope you find what you’re looking for, Auror Potter.”

Harry swallowed hard. “Umm, thanks,” and then nodded to Ned as he went back to his weeding. Malfoy was pretty far ahead, so Harry jogged to catch up. Ned’s words spinning around in his head like a merry-go-round only added to the already dizzying revelations he was having courtesy of one demon-witch and one Pansy Parkinson. 


	7. Draco

“Malfoy, wait up,” Potter called from behind him.

Draco didn’t want to slow down. He had said more embarrassing things to Potter today than in the entirety of their knowing one another, and he had been about to tell that caretaker that he was in love with someone. How embarrassing.

He kept his eyes forward on the stone structures at the back of the cemetery and decided to try and place the architecture to keep his mind off of Potter and the way this blasted potion was making up all of his carefully curated control. There were some that looked like Egyptian revival tombs, and others that called back to Rome and the columns of their great structures. Others were properly gothic and looked like they would have inspired the likes of Mary Shelly and Edgar Allen Poe. The grounds were meticulously cared for—verdant green grass spread out around him, and large trunked trees gave shade to the perimeter of the grounds. The ivy and moss growing on older stones all seemed intentional as opposed to overgrown.

“That bloke was an odd duck, wasn’t he?” Potter asked when he caught up.

Draco clenched his jaw. The potion made him overly aware of Potter’s next to him; static electricity crackled between their bodies. All the hair on his arms stood at attention, as if reaching out for Potter. Every second felt like it was stretched to an eternity, and he hated this potion and how it made him think of everything he wanted but could never have.

“What was it that made him odd exactly?” Draco snapped, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. He knew he was being petulant, but it was damned hard to keep his cool when the potion was working to bring all these emotions to the forefront in order to protect him. “Was it simply that he was interested in me, or was it something else that I didn’t pick up on since I’m a terrible Auror and you’re the next coming of Merlin?”

“Malfoy, come on,” Potter said, his tone half joking, half offended. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Wasn’t it? You’ve made it perfectly clear that I’m inferior to you in your treatment of me as your partner, even though I try harder with you than I have ever tried with anyone. It’s never enough for you, and I doubt it ever will be.” Draco was trembling now, every part of him too awake with sensation. He wanted to run, to hide away until the potion left his system so he could go back to ignoring his feelings for Potter in peace.

Potter took a deep breath. “That’s not—”

“You never listen to me, never communicate your plans to me,” Draco continued, cutting Potter off, his mouth moving of its own accord now. “You act like I am your secretary and not your partner.” Draco picked up his pace. He wanted to be anywhere but where Potter was—he needed air, he needed this potion to wear off.

“Malfoy, wait up, wait,” Potter said, his breathing a bit labored as he tried to catch up.

“I suppose you think he should have been interested in you, right? Like all the other people on the planet who are star struck whenever they see ‘ _The_ Harry Potter.’” Draco couldn’t stop the words from coming anymore than he could stop himself loving Potter. They flowed from him freely as if the potion broke a dam of emotion that had been the only thing keeping him sane.

“That’s not fair. I can’t control how people react to me,” Potter said, sounding sulky.

Draco laughed bitterly to himself. “I mean, how could anyone see me as worthy with all the terrible things I did. Death Eater scum that I am, right? Doesn’t matter that I do good now, that I’ve undone as much of the damage my father wrought as I possibly could, in your eyes… I’m still nothing.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Malfoy,” Potter snapped. He was now in step with Draco, though he was taking two steps for one of Draco’s.

“You don’t have to say the words, Potter, but the message is still there...loud and clear.”

Potter grabbed Draco by the arm, pulling him around to face him. Draco expected the arousal this time, but that didn’t take away from the intensity of the touch. Potter squeezed hard once, then pulled his hand back flexing his fingers like they were sore as he did. “Can we walk at a normal pace, so I can explain myself?”

Draco scowled, but nodded his agreement. His body was still in overdrive from the touch, but he managed to start walking again, if a bit uncomfortably, toward the mausoleums. Potter walked beside him. He was quiet for a moment, then he spoke. 

“Look, Malfoy, really, that’s not even close to what I meant. I only meant he was an odd bloke. The way he was talking to you like he knew you just because he reads the articles. Those people freak me out.” Potter sounded calmer suddenly, all the anger gone from his voice. “I never said that it was odd that he found you attractive, or that you aren’t worthy. Honestly, it would have been odd if he didn’t find you attractive. I mean, shite, just look at you. You should hear what everyone at the DMLE says about you. Half the secretaries swoon whenever you pass them. Everyone thinks you’re good-looking.”

Potter slowed his pace suddenly and stopped in the middle of the cobblestone walkway, clutching his chest like an easily offended dowager after hearing someone say something untoward. Draco turned in time to catch the moment of shock that ran across Potter’s face.

Finally Draco understood all those stupid Victorian romance novels his mother had made him read growing up. He’d thought them all ridiculous, getting flustered over something as innocent as a compliment from their love interest. And Potter hadn’t even directly complimented him, yet the feeling of falling consumed Draco to his core until he thought he might never feel surefooted again.

“Di—did you just compliment me?” Draco was sure he wore an equally shocked expression, though all he could focus on was how Potter’s eyes raked up and down Draco’s body like they were seeing him for the first time.

“Er, uh, well...I,” Potter stammered. He locked eyes with Draco. They blazed, wild and green.

The last bit of the sunset disappeared behind the clouds again, cloaking the cemetery in darkness. Night was upon them. Time was running out. The wind picked up and whistled through the trees, making Draco shiver. His body reacted to the wind, sending a shockwave of pleasure down his spine. Potter still watched him and Draco felt exposed standing there, with the wind caressing his skin and Potter’s gaze fixed on him.

Draco felt the weight of the moment as it sank through him, filling him with a warmth low in his groin. He needed to do something else, something that would keep Potter’s eyes off of him until he was sure he could breathe properly again.

“We should check out the mausoleums. It will be night soon. No telling when the creature will be back or when the potion wears off.” Draco hoped against hope that Potter couldn’t hear the arousal in his voice.

Potter cleared his throat. “Yeah, let’s do that. Split up to cover more ground?”

Tension rolled off Draco’s shoulders at Potter’s suggestion to split up. “Yes, good. Send up a red spark if you find anything or run into trouble.”

“Agreed.” Potter’s eyes lingered on Draco for a moment, then he turned on his heel and jogged towards the far end of the rows of mausoleums, ducking out of sight.

The sky darkened even more and rain began to fall. The droplets hit Draco’s face, startling him out of his thoughts, the sensation of the raindrops rolling down his exposed skin like a soft touch. He pulled his wand out and cast an umbrella charm to keep the rain off of him. Then he took in one deep breath and turned towards the opposite end, thankful to be free of Potter’s gaze, yet feeling colder without it as if someone stripped his blankets off in the middle of winter.


	8. Harry

The rain didn’t bother him, even as it dripped in his eyes and soaked his shoes. It should have, but he barely felt it. All he could think about was Malfoy and the fact that he hadn’t been lying. He did think Malfoy was attractive. He didn’t want to admit he thought so, because he didn’t need the distraction, but he had for some time now. He wished he could just blame it on the potion, but he knew that it didn’t change a person’s feelings.

Parkinson said it took an _already existing_ attraction and used that as a shield. In a far-off way, he knew he was attracted to Malfoy and had been since Malfoy started training as an Auror. But he’d ignored it. It felt like he wasn’t allowed to be happy, not when Dean and countless others were dead, and he was alive for no other reason than their sacrifices. Dean, one of his best friends, died protecting him. How could he indulge in something as frivolous as attraction, especially to someone like Malfoy who had been a jerk to all his friends growing up, when he knew Dean died all because Harry hesitated for a moment too long.

Thanks to Parkinson’s potion, he was experiencing his feelings for the first time since Dean’s death, really feeling them—all of them. And it was overwhelming and confusing. He hurt all over, physically, but emotionally, too. He hadn’t let himself slow down since he lost Dean, so two years worth of emotions all skidded to a halt at once, crashing into him, with his attraction to Malfoy and guilt for being alive when Dean was dead at the forefront, both competing for top billing.

Thinking about his old partner made his gut twist. He had died jumping in front of a curse meant for Harry. They’d tracked a few of Voldemort’s old followers, zealots really, who had started a cult of sorts, worshiping the dead wizard. It should have been an easy in-and-out operation. The intel had said they were unorganised and mostly Squibs, but when they’d arrived at the abandoned house the followers called home… they had been ambushed with a barrage of spells. Dean had told Harry they should fall back, but Harry had insisted they could take them, so they pursued. They nearly had them all bound when someone cast off an _Avada Kedarva_ headed straight for Harry. The moments between when the curse was fired and it hitting Dean had felt like they were happening through molasses. Harry could have dodged the curse, put up a shield spell, something, but he let the curse come for him. He was tired of all the fighting, and thought it might not be so bad to die.

Dean had jumped in front of the curse, the green flash of magic crashing into his chest, and died in Harry’s arms while the culprit made a quick exit. Harry had searched and searched for Dean’s killer after. Months of searching the lowest, grimiest places of wizarding London until he’d found him and apprehended him. The man was rotting in Azkaban, but it hadn’t brought Dean back. It hadn’t erased the fact that someone else had died for Harry.

“Get it together, Harry,” he mumbled as he passed yet another empty mausoleum. Well, empty wasn’t the right word. There were dead people and a decent amount of insects making their homes in the stone structures, but no sign of the Succubus.

Dead birds. Harry mulled over what that could mean. Usually, animal deaths happened when someone was messing with Black Magic. It signalled a power imbalance, if he remembered Hermione’s lecture properly. Since the Succubus was the embodiment of Black Magic after compromising her human self for immortality, it could be that her magic mixed with the Ley Lines was creating the imbalance.

He knew she was trying to work a spell, but he couldn’t figure out what kind. The deaths told him it had to do with Life and Death Magic, sacrifice most likely the reason for so many deaths all at once. But what could the Succubus want that it didn’t already have? What could drive something that only needed to kill once a year to survive to kill so many, so close together in desperation? And it was clear she was desperate, but why?

At the very edge of the cemetery, Harry spotted an iron gate about six feet tall with ivy growing around the iron poles. There were hip-high bushes and a tree whose branches hung over into the cemetery. Underneath the shade of the tree, Harry spotted three dead birds just as Ned, the caretaker, had said.

Harry, careful to cast a Disillusionment Charm this time, snuck quietly around the side of the mausoleum nearest the dead birds. He peered inside and saw what looked like a squatter’s den. It was empty, so he went inside to get a better look.

In the middle of the room, there was a raised stone coffin with the name Howard Benchley etched into the stone. According to the etching, Benchley died in 1807. The rest of the dead were housed in the walls around him. He must have been the patriarch of the family. And there were a lot of relatives surrounding Benchley. This man’s eternal resting space was bigger than Harry’s apartment. Rich people. Even in death they had to be showy.

It smelled of dust and mold. Harry coughed one of those wet coughs that are the result of humidity mixed with the dust and mold smell of the mausoleum. The rain fell even more furiously, pounding on the stone roof. It felt wrong to be in here, somehow, like he was intruding on Benchley and his family.

He looked around and saw some discarded clothes in a corner; a few sparkling dresses that no doubt fit the Succubus much like the slinky black dress he’d met her in. A shiver ran up his spine at the memory. Kissing her had felt so good, and if he hadn’t been lucky...he would have let her kiss him until he was as dead as everyone in this cemetery.

Near the coffin, a circle of black and red candles were arranged in a pattern with one white candle in the middle. All but one of them were lit despite the damp breeze that rolled in through all the small crevices and cracks in the old stone walls. Harry noticed six of them were lit. Six. Like the six victims. Like the six Ley Lines leading to the nexus. The wax rolled down the sides of the candles, hitting the stone and trickling inward to meet in the middle of the circle where the sole white candle waited unlit. He wagered once the middle one was lit, whatever spell the Succubus had been working on would be in full effect. And he’d bet his last Galleon that she needed to make the final kill here to activate the nexus.

The Succubus was attempting Thaumaturgy, a kind of magic that fell out of use in Europe around the turn of the century thanks to the focus on wand magic. Doing something on the small scale, and having it happen on the large scale. Using something to represent how the magic should be focused. It’s ultimately what a wand did, but with less ritual than something like what the Succubus was attempting.

Likely, blowing out one of the candles would disconnect the Ley Line, but if the breeze and damp air wasn’t doing it, the candles were likely enchanted somehow, so getting them to blow out wouldn’t be as simple as blowing out the candles on a birthday cake. Plus, there could be any number of things that could go wrong. If the Ley Lines power was tied to the candles, and the bond was strengthened by the sacrifices of the victims, then blowing out the candles could mean messing with the Ley Lines intrinsic power, and Harry didn’t know how that would affect magic on the whole. And thanks to the Succubus stealing some of his Life Energy, he wasn’t sure he could cast something without it backfiring, or fizzling out completely.

A loud crack of thunder made Harry jump, and then the lit candles flickered, flames reaching for the sky in tall orange columns. The one in the middle that was unlit stayed that way, making Harry curious. The flicker of the flames cast shadows all about the room, making him feel like he was at a campfire about to roast marshmallows. All of a sudden his mind was flooded with images of Malfoy: his white-blond hair mussed up after a practice duel, the hard line of his cheekbones, the mysterious grey of his eyes that seemed to grow stormy when he was concentrated, the curve of his Cupid’s bow lips when he smirked.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed out, overwhelmed by the suddenness of the potion’s shield protecting him, which could only mean one thing: the Succubus was nearby.

There was a moment where Harry wondered if he should fight this thing without his partner, but thinking about the woman whose life had been lost the last time Harry tried to face this thing alone...he thought better.

His wand felt alive in his hand, it pulsed as he gripped it. The wood scraping along his skin, the magic sparking as he stepped out of the mausoleum and sent up red sparks for his partner. Miraculously, the spell worked. They had a Succubus to capture.

__

“Do we have to crouch back here behind the bushes with the dead birds?” Malfoy whined. He extended his umbrella charm to keep Harry from getting wet, then hit him with a drying charm for good measure.

“Yes, now shush,” Harry whispered. Malfoy’s magic tingled along his skin as it dried him. He’d never felt someone’s magic so intensely before. It left him breathless.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest any more. He was squatting instead of kneeling in the grass which, of course, was so very Malfoy of him to be worried about grass stains when they were about to engage in a fight.

They decided to wait for the Succubus to enter the mausoleum, trap it inside. Both Harry and Malfoy felt their potion’s shield flare up around the same time. Malfoy had come to the same conclusion as Harry and was about to send up a flare when he saw Harry’s.

“Come on, come on, where are you?” Harry mumbled to himself when night settled in around them. It was late and he was getting antsy. He couldn’t be wrong. If he was wrong, then that meant someone else would die tonight because of his mistake.

“What’s our plan then?” Malfoy whispered.

Harry turned to face his partner and felt his breath hitch when he realised how close their faces were. With the shielding of the potion at full effect now, Harry could no longer deny that he was attracted to Malfoy. “Uh...we, well, we trap her in the Lock Box, obviously.”

Malfoy smirked, and Harry felt pixies flutter in his stomach, then Malfoy said, “Mmm, yes, _obviously_ , but how will we go about that?”

Harry answered with a shrug, not trusting his voice.

“Merlin,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “See, this is what everyone means when they say you’re hard to work with, you know? Is this really how it was when you and your little friends were off saving the world in school? You cook up part of a plan and then run head first into a dangerous situation, hoping for the best?”

“Pretty much.”

“You’re lucky to be alive then.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“A plan wouldn’t kill you, you know? It might even make things run more smoothly. Fancy that.”

Harry didn’t have a chance to reply because a noise drew his attention away from his partner. The sound of laughter and of pleasure. A soft moan filled the quiet of the cemetery. It wouldn’t have affected him at all had he not turned at the exact moment of the moan to tell Malfoy to listen. Malfoy, lips parted and eyes shut, was already listening to the sound.

There was another moan, lower, more guttural. Malfoy’s eyes snapped open and met Harry’s. “ _She’s here_ ,” he mouthed to Harry.

Harry swallowed hard, trying to ignore the growing arousal in his pants, and peeked over the top of the bush in time to see a woman, tall with raven colored hair in a red dress that looked more like a teddy meant for the bedroom than something to wear in public, and a man hanging all over her. He seemed drunk, in both the literal sense and in the magical one.

The pair didn’t seem to mind that the rain soaked through their clothes. Harry mused that they looked like they belonged in the trailer for a rom-com, all rain-drenched and hot for one another. She had him pinned against the side of the mausoleum, licking a line down his neck to his collarbone. He let out another moan as his hands made their way down the arch of her back to the slope of her arse. He gripped tightly and pulled her closer, lifting the back of her dress in the process.

“You taste delicious,” the raven-haired Succubus said, her voice husky and breathy. She licked along the line of his jaw as her hands raked down his chest, undoing a few buttons in the process.

The man tilted his head back to rest on the stone wall, giving her better access to his neck. “God, you’re so hot.” He took one hand away from her arse and slid it up her hip, slowly dragging his fingers along the hem of her dress.

She laughed. It was a beautiful sound, but beautiful in the way an abandoned ruin covered in overgrowth is beautiful. Her laugh hinted at darker things, untold power. “Let’s take this out of the rain. I want to taste all of you.”

“Fuck, I can’t believe this is happening. Jerry’s gonna be so jealous,” the man said and followed the Succubus as she strode away into the mausoleum.

Once the couple were out of sight, Harry sprang to his feet. He did so without paying attention and managed to collide with Malfoy, who had done the same thing at the same time. Their heads knocked and Harry tried to right himself by grabbing hold of Malfoy’s elbows. That was a mistake. The instant he touched Malfoy, his body ached to touch more of him, to touch all of him. The potion was getting stronger, harder to ignore.

“Potter,” Malfoy whispered. He looked panic-stricken. His hands were pressed against Harry’s chest to keep himself from leaning in too close.

Mouth dry, Harry dropped his hands with more effort than he would ever admit and dusted off his robes. Malfoy did the same, though he hadn’t been kneeling in the dirt as Harry had.

Malfoy nodded, took out his wand and said, “Let’s end this.” On that, Harry was in total agreement.

__

There was no good way to barge in on a Succubus as it siphoned the Life Energy out of a human victim. There was, as far as Harry could tell, only one way in and one way out. There were no windows to see inside, so all that was left was to open the door and walk inside. Easy as pie.

Harry had his hand on the door, wand at the ready, when Malfoy’s touch made him turn around. “ _What_?” he mouthed.

Eyes wide, Malfoy gave him a long-suffering silent sigh, which Harry found oddly impressive, or at least he would have if there wasn’t a man potentially dying on the other side of the door while his partner did it.

“ _Plan_?” Malfoy mouthed.

Harry shrugged. “ _Fight_.” He pulled his wand out, hoping he had enough in him to throw an Incendio before the Succubus killed her final victim. He wasn’t feeling especially lucky, so he was about to tell Malfoy that maybe he should go in first when Malfoy sighed again, closed his eyes and rolled his neck.

He held his wand up in a dueling posture and nodded. “ _Fine_.”

Harry pulled the door open, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake going in without being sure he could cast, and took in the scene in front of him. In the middle of the room, atop the resting place of Howard Benchley in the light of the circle of candles, the Succubus was straddling the man and moving her hips in a circular motion. A blue glow emitted from his mouth which hung open in absolute pleasure and floated from his mouth into her own.

She was stark naked, but she wasn’t beautiful any longer. The long raven hair was now a stringy white, and it hung around her face like vines. Her once perfect, supple skin was gray and wrinkled. It sagged off her bones. Her breasts hung like rotten fruit on a thin tree branch. But it was her eyes that were most unsettling. They were the putrid yellow of bile with no pupil. They seemed to glow in the darkness of the mausoleum. And they were trained on Harry.

“ _Incendio_ ,” Harry shouted without warning. His magic pulsed in him, pushing out through the wand, but all that came out were red sparks.

A soft chuckle came from the Succubus. “Mm, did desert follow me home? Oh, I remember you. My little sour milk. Have you come for more?” Her voice hit Harry like a brick to his gut, and he felt paralysed. It was still the husky voice he heard before, only it sounded displaced coming from her haggard mouth.

Harry took a reflexive step backward into Malfoy, who had his wand up. “ _Incendio_ ,” he shouted, following Harry’s lead. This time flames erupted from the tip of the wand, hitting the Succubus in the face. She howled in rage, leaning down closer to the man she sat astride. The flames got dangerously close to burning the man underneath her.

“Malfoy, the victim,” Harry whispered, his wand hand still outstretched. He shook violently now, unable to cast.

Malfoy didn’t question him, though Harry felt him tense behind him. “ _Aguamenti_.”

It wasn’t fear that made Harry shake, but the strain of focusing his energy to try and cast. He hated that he’d let her get a piece of him. He’d thought he'd seen the worst of what magic could do to those who attempted to prolong their lives. Voldemort had been grotesque thanks to his efforts, but still seemed human-ish. If this thing had ever been human, Harry couldn’t see it now.

“Oh, there are two of you,” she cooed when she saw Malfoy behind him, her flesh, or what counted as flesh, was charred black from the burning fire that she managed to put out somehow. “What a treat.”

There was a pop in the air like static and Harry felt magic fill the room. It threatened to drown him. He felt Malfoy solid behind him. And then the flare of the potion shielding him. Flashes of Malfoy’s face rushed though his mind, warming him to the core. The potion worked, it blocked her magic from consuming him again. He let out a relieved breath. Parkinson had done it.

The man, still moaning under the Succubus, reached up for her breasts, but she slapped his hands out of the way and sat up straighter. She ceased her hip gyrations, and Harry felt her push her magic at them again. And again, the potion rippled along his skin, flooding him with Malfoy’s scent and the contented hum he made every time he sipped his tea, keeping her out of his mind. He was going to buy Parkinson a drink after this. Maybe two.

“What is _that_?” she spat. Her putrid eyes widening in disbelief. She sniffed the air like a dog trying to catch a trail. The man moved under her again and this time she slapped his face with such force that he passed out.

“What’s what?” Harry asked innocently, buying time one of the only ways he knew how: getting the bad guy to talk. He learned that tactic fighting Voldmort, sometimes the bad guy loved to monologue. Malfoy stiffened behind him, grabbed his robe, and gave it a tug. Likely he was trying to tell Harry to shut it.

Malfoy raised his wand, clearly ready to cast another spell, but Harry nudged him with his elbow. The only spell that worked on her was fire and with the victim unconscious under her, it was too dangerous. She could use him as a shield, or Malfoy could miss and hit the victim all together. There was no good way to communicate to Malfoy to cast a _Protego_ on the man without the Succubus catching on and thwarting them. Harry didn’t want to admit it, but talking seemed to be the only real option on the table.

“ _Wizards_.” She said the word like it was a curse, her eyes shifting to focus on Malfoy’s wand. “Your kind always thinks they are so clever with your wands and your potions. So, I can’t trap your minds; oh well, that doesn’t mean I can’t feast on your Life Energy. You are foolish coming here all alone.”

“You’ve got me there,” Harry agreed. Malfoy tugged on his robe again. “But you are equally foolish if you think we’re just going to let you activate the nexus of Ley Lines.”

The Succubus’ eyes widened. She almost seemed impressed. “I only need one more death, wizard, and then the nexus will be active,” she said as she slipped herself off of the unconscious man. Her movements were graceful, more graceful than Harry would have expected from something that looked frail enough to crack in a strong wind. She padded across the room and stopped a foot away. Her mouth twisted into a smile that was even more unsettling thanks to the cracking of her burnt flesh. “I was planning on eating that man’s Life Energy, but I’ve had a taste of yours, and I think I’d like the rest.”

Harry didn’t see it happen, but suddenly the Succubus gripped his throat. It was like time skipped. One moment, she was smiling at him from a foot away, the next, her hand was tight around his throat, and she was pulling his Life Energy from him. He could feel it as she drained him, only this time there was no bliss, no pleasure—all he felt was pain, searing and tearing at his insides. His grip on his wand weakened and he felt it slip out of his hand and hit the ground.

“ _Stop_ ,” Malfoy shouted, aiming his wand at the Succubus. His hand trembled, but he held firm. He moved out from behind Harry, dropping something in Harry’s pocket as he did. “I will light you on fire before you can siphon his energy.”

“Yes, you might stop me, but you might also burn him in the process, and you won’t take that risk, will you?” She sniffed the air, again reminding him of a hound tracking a downed deer. “I may not be able to trap your minds, but the stench of attraction is all over you. You love him, don’t you?”

Even distracted as Harry was with trying not to die, he felt his pulse pick up at the Succubus’ words. _Love_? Had she just said Malfoy loved him?

Malfoy clenched his jaw. “Take my energy instead. Let them both go, kill me instead.” He dropped his wand hand to his side. “You still get what you need. I won’t fight you if you let them go.”

The Succubus stopped pulling the Life Energy from Harry and set her gaze on Malfoy. He held up his hands in surrender. His wand was no longer there. Harry wondered if that was what Malfoy had dropped in his pocket, but then it didn’t feel like a wand. It was heavier and more round and, Merlin, it was the Lock Box. Malfoy must have a plan, right?

“Instead?” She laughed. “How about I just kill you all?”

“Let them go...and, and I will help you with your spell.”

A cackle worthy of any hook-nosed witch rolled up out of her. “Help me?”

“It took me a while to work it out. I’d probably have gotten it sooner if this potion we took to guard us from you wasn’t messing with my head all day, but he’s come to collect you hasn’t he? Calling your soul?”

The Succubus froze. Her features sharpened, and if her skin wasn’t already a pale grey, she would have gone white. “You know nothing.”

Malfoy stammered, managed to plaster on one of his cocksure smirks and said, “It makes sense, really. A witch who was willing to give up everything for immortality wouldn't actually want to owe her soul to anyone.” Malfoy took a breath and continued, “Naturally, you would have been working out how to avoid the call when it came. I know that’s what I would have done, figuring you had at least a few centuries to figure out a loophole before your number was up. Nothing panned out, so now you’re scrambling for something. You searched everywhere, but the only loophole you can think of is binding yourself to earth. But you can’t cast on your own, so you need magic, and lots of it, to manage it.” He pointed to the candles, all of which still burned brightly.

Harry felt like he’d been hit with ice-cold water. That’s what Ron’s case had been about—the batteries. She’d been working on a way to harness magic for some time now, and when the battery idea backfired, she moved on to Ley Lines.

“I mean, you were clever enough to escape capture when the Ministry was rounding up your kind for experiments, so of course you’d think yourself clever enough to outwit a literal Demon. You are the one who got loose and siphoned all those Ministry workers, aren’t you? You’re the reason they shut the project down.”

She made no sound.

“That’s what I thought,” Malfoy said, sounding sympathetic. “You said it yourself, wizards think we are clever. We came up with a potion to resist your magic, I’m sure I can come up with something to help you avoid your call. But only if you let them go.”

The Succubus loosened her grip on Harry’s neck. “Wizards aren’t trustworthy.”

“You were once like us, weren’t you? Magic allowed you to become this in the first place, why couldn’t it also help keep you that way? You were already trying a spell yourself, a spell to bind your soul energy to this nexus, right? I’m positive with some creative casting, I can manage it.” 

“What makes you think I need your help?”

“Really? Succubi can’t perform magic the way witches and wizards can. We both know that. It was part of what you gave up when you gave up your mortality.” Malfoy inched closer to the Succubus and said, in a calm and understanding tone, “You already tried the spell using a battery, and it exploded. If you try and activate the nexus, it will backfire, too. The spell is unstable, I can feel it.”

Harry wasn’t shocked that Malfoy had made the same connections as he had. Ron’s case had been the talk of the DMLE for weeks. But he was curious about the instability of the spell. Harry didn’t feel anything wrong with the candles, or the magic it was focusing from the Ley Lines. Either Harry was off his game thanks to the second bite the Succubus had taken from him, or Malfoy was bluffing.

Malfoy laughed to himself. “I understand you, you know? Being so prideful, so sure that you can outsmart anyone. That you’re always the most clever person in the room, one step ahead. I’ve been that way my whole life. I’ll bet you didn’t even hesitate when the Demon told you the price was your soul because you just knew you would slip out of it the way you did with everything else. But, I’ll let you in on a little secret, that luck eventually runs out. It all catches up with you until you’re trapped in a corner with no options. It’s what happened to me, and it will happen to you, too.”

A long moment passed. The Succubus’ hand loosened even further, giving Harry a chance to breathe properly. She was distracted looking at Malfoy, so Harry slipped his hand in his pocket. It was the Lock Box. The cool metal felt like heaven in his hand. He just needed to wait for the right moment to toss it at her and end this.

“You think me weak, wizard. Weak enough to fall for your trickery? I’ve known men like you before. Silver-tongued, charming, beautiful. I killed them all. I will find a way to unbind my soul from the Demon.” The Succubus pushed Harry away from her and moved for Malfoy. Harry hit the ground with an “oof.” His wand was next to him, so he snatched it up.

Wand raised, Harry aimed. But he hardly formed the word, _Stupefy_ , before the Succubus had thrown him into the stone wall without moving her attention off of Malfoy. Telekinesis hadn’t been in all the texts and studies about Succubi. That they were superhuman strong, yes, but this was a whole other thing. His head throbbed. He felt warm liquid running down his forehead. A red droplet fell on his glasses which were cracked so badly he couldn’t see properly.

There was motion to his right, but Harry couldn’t quite make it out. Then he saw a bright red light and the amorphous gray blob that was likely the Succubus fly off and slam into the wall behind her. The mausoleum shook with the force of Malfoy’s spell.

“Get up, you dolt,” Malfoy spat in his direction and then let off a string of defensive spells that lit the room up like a Christmas tree. Harry realised that Malfoy was trying to keep the Succubus away from the victim.

There was a cracking sound and part of the mausoleum wall broke free just above Harry’s head. Particles and small pieces of stone rained down on him as the Succubus threw the stone across the room to Malfoy.

Harry blinked back the headache that throbbed just behind his eyes and tried to stand. He could only make it to all fours before the world spun on its axis, and he felt vomit rise to his throat. Shite. He was no good to his partner if he couldn’t stand up. Without looking to aim, he gathered his magic, all he had left, and shouted, “ _Bombarda_.”

There was a relieved sigh coming from Malfoy which told Harry he’d managed to break the stone up before it knocked his partner out. Another string of spells loosed from Malfoy’s wand. Harry’s head pounded, but he could swear Malfoy wasn’t even saying the spells anymore. Harry crawled out of the way and sat back against the stone wall and aimed his wand. If he couldn’t stand and fight, then he would sit and fight.

Stupidly, the only spell that came to mind was Rictusempra, so he shot it off in the direction of the gray blob. It missed her and hit the victim still unconscious on the slab. His body jerked and then the man shot up as if awoken from a nightmare.

“What the...” He took a look around the room and his eyes fell on the Succubus. A scream ripped from his body.

“ _Run_ ,” Harry shouted at him.

The man turned toward Harry and then took his advice. He didn’t even bother to grab his clothes before running out of the mausoleum.

“That was mine,” the Succubus wailed. Her voice held an aching, a longing, that Harry hadn’t been ready to hear.

“ _Now_ ,” Malfoy shouted and threw an Incarcerous, which managed to work, at the distracted Succubus. Her body went stiff and she growled like a cornered wolf.

Harry fumbled in his pocket for the Lock Box. Finally, he managed to pull it free and toss it to Malfoy. He caught it and placed it at the Succubus’s feet then said the incantation to open the Lock Box.

The mechanisms sprang into action, the metal box unfolding like a flower in bloom. The sounds of gears turning and metal scraping was like music to Harry’s ears. They had her. It was over. They’d done it.

The Succubus let out a desperate scream that made Harry’s heart beat faster.

“Oh, do shut up.” Malfoy flicked his wand, whispered the spell to seal the box, and within the blink of an eye, the Succubus was sucked into the Lock Box where she would spend the rest of her immortality, trapped. Looks like she managed to find that loophole after all. 


	9. Draco

“Potter, talk to me,” Draco said as he rushed to grab the Lock Box once it closed. He picked it up, it was cold to the touch and even trapped as she was—her magic lingered. Once he was sure she was locked away, he went to his partner 

“‘M fine,” Potter mumbled. “Head hurts a bit.”

Draco knelt down next to Potter and saw the wound on his head gushing blood. He touched his partner’s face, feeling a rush of lust hit him. Potter’s skin was warm under his fingers. He didn’t flinch away, but instead leaned into Draco’s touch. The potion hadn’t worked its way out of their systems yet, that was all.

“You’re bleeding.”

Potter laughed. “Observant as always, partner.” The stubborn man Draco had known for so long and loved for nearly all that time, tried to stand up only to fall back against the wall for support.

Draco stood up next to him. “You’re an idiot, Potter. Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t cast? That the Succubus got a bite out of you last night, didn’t she? That was utterly foolish, and not to mention, it could have gotten you killed.”

“I had to stop her.”

“Not alone,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “You could have told me. We could have planned something...”

“You would have told Robards, and I couldn’t take that chance. I needed to find this thing and stop it before someone else died.”

“Maybe I would have, maybe not. You never gave me the chance, Potter. If we are going to work together, be partners, you have to be honest with me.”

In answer, Potter shrugged. Then he did something odd. He turned to face Draco and reached a hand up to stroke his face. Potter’s fingers were shaky as they trailed down from his cheek to his jaw. “She was right, you know? You are silver-tongued, charming, and beautiful.”

This wasn’t real, Draco reminded himself. Potter was still under the effects of the potion and obviously concussed. That didn’t stop his breath from hitching, nor did it stop his body from aching with want.

“She left out one thing though,” Potter said.

“Wh-what?”

“You’re also a giant pain in the arse.” Potter laughed and then let his hand fall to rest on Draco’s chest.

Every inch of Draco was on fire. Potter was touching him and saying those things. _Fuck_. Pansy was right. This potion wasn’t a good idea for him. It was like giving a recovered addict a hit of heroin only to snatch the rest away forever. 

“Potter.” Draco’s voice came out breathy, and he hated it.

There was a moment where Potter leaned in, grasping Draco’s robes in his fist, when Draco thought that maybe, just maybe, something would happen, but then the familiar sound of Robards’ voice reached them and Draco pulled back.

Potter’s head snapped around to the mausoleum entrance. He swayed under the too quick movement and grabbed his head. “Robards?”

“In there!” someone else shouted, then Robards was stepping through the doorway.

The Head Auror had his wand out, ready. “Potter, Malfoy?”

“Sir,” Potter said. “What are you doing here?”

“Your partner was smart enough to send word when you found the Succubus. We were all out at different night clubs when we got word, and rushed here. Looks like we were a bit late to the party, though. And interestingly, we ran into a naked man stammering about a wizard fight that led us back to the mausoleums.”

“Her almost victim.” Draco took the Lock Box out and extended his hand towards Robards. “We got her.”

Robards grabbed the box and nodded. “Good. But don’t think that means you two are off the hook for engaging with the perp after I specifically told you not to. There will be desk duty in both of your futures.” He turned to look at Potter once again and sighed. “And Auror Malfoy, get your partner to St. Mungo’s so he can get that cut seen to.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco said.

“I’m fine. Just a scratch.” Potter grunted as he tried to stand clear of the wall, but leaned back on it again. “Okay, maybe I do need to get this looked at.”

__

St. Mungo’s was quiet. The Spell Damage Ward’s patients all seemed to be sleeping. When they arrived, a Healer swooped Potter away, telling Draco to wait there. It all felt like it happened in slow motion. Draco felt the potion waning, leaving him a bit drained and very sore. Pansy had said it might last seven hours, but it was more like three, but if she’d had that final day to tweak things, he was sure it would have been seven. He felt like he needed to sleep for about a week.

He waited in the lobby, yawning every few moments, flipping through old editions of Witch Weekly where he found an article about Potter. It was an interview with The Chosen One from right after the war. The picture they used of his partner was one that someone must have snapped directly after the battle. There was dirt smudging his face and a cut over his eye. He looked much the same as he had tonight. He even still wore that determined ‘I’m going to do whatever I want’ look.

“Some things never change,” Draco mumbled to himself, covering his mouth as another yawn escaped him. He shut the magazine, and when he looked up, Potter was standing over him looking rested. They’d cleaned all the blood off his face and healed the cut. And if the stupid grin he wore was any indication, rid him of his concussion, too.

“And some things do.” Potter smiled down at him, responding to Draco’s musings about Potter. “You waited?”

Draco stood up, using the chair’s armrests to keep him steady. He wondered if they’d given Potter a Pepper-Up potion because he looked like he’d just awoken from a good night's sleep, whereas Draco felt like he’d been up for 72 hours straight. “Of course,” Draco said, a yawn muffling his speech a bit. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Right. Thanks, Malfoy. For, you know, all of it.”

Draco’s throat went dry. “Of course, Potter. It was nothing.”

Potter laughed bitterly. “I should have told you the Succubus got a bite out of me and that it affected my spell casting.”

“Probably.”

Potter smiled, and it was unbelievably attractive. “Definitely. Next time, I will.”

Quiet and empty as it was, the emergency ward had an almost other-realm feel to it as Potter stood in front of Draco, smiling at him openly like they were the best of friends.

“So what next?” Draco asked, trying to keep himself steady, both physically and emotionally.

“Back to the Ministry so Robards can rip us a new one, I suppose.” Potter headed off toward the entrance lobby where the Floos were, and Draco followed after him.

The only sounds were the soft breathing of patients sleeping, and the sounds of Potter’s shoes clicking on the tile floor as they made their way down the halls. Potter walked next to him, keeping in step with him. Potter’s knuckles brushed against his and Draco held his breath. The potion had to be out of his system by now. It’d been hours. So why did Potter’s touch still make him feel like he was flying?

When they reached the Floos, Potter turned to face him. “There is one thing I wanted to talk about before we go back.”

Draco looked over his shoulder. They were alone in the entrance lobby. “Uh, sure. What’s that?”

“The potion Parkinson gave us. It felt like my whole body was a live wire all night, but it didn’t seem like it bothered you much.”

“And?”

“And I guess I want to know why.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Draco lied.

“So you didn’t feel anything at all? Like when we touched?” Potter searched Draco’s face like he was reading a particularly confusing passage in a textbook. “Parkinson said it took an already existing attraction? Amplified it, right?”

Draco nodded. “What are you getting at?”

“Well, if it didn’t affect you, then does that mean you didn’t have an already existing attraction?” Potter scrunched his brow. “No, that can’t be it because then the Succubus could have trapped your mind, and she didn’t? That means you had an existing attraction and the potion worked on you?”

“Yes.”

“So what gives? Why didn’t you seem to be reacting as much as me?”

Draco looked over his shoulder, nervously checking that no one was eavesdropping. “Do we really need to talk about this right now?”

“I’d like to, yes.” Potter smiled. It was a soft, almost shy smile that Draco was not used to seeing his partner wear. “If we’re going to work together, don’t you think we should be honest with one another? Someone pretty clever told me that recently.”

“Ye—yes,” Draco stammered. Merlin, this man would be the death of him one way or the other. He was throwing Draco’s own words back at him.

“So, then what happened? Why didn’t you seem as affected? Every time I touched something, my whole body felt it. It was even more intense when we touched, and I sort of remember Parkinson saying that if you were around someone you found attractive that it would be worse, so I guess what I’m getting at is...”

Draco cut Potter off before he could finish. “Yes, the potion was supposed to make us immune to the Succubus by amping up whatever attraction we already had for someone, like a sort of mental block. If you acknowledged those feelings, or accepted them, then the effects wouldn’t be as strong. Or at least, they would be strong, but you’d be able to control them. If you denied them, or they were being blocked somehow then it would be worse.”

“Oh-kay,” Potter said, elongating the word. “So that means you had already accepted your attraction and that...that I hadn’t?”

Draco nodded. “I accepted it a long time ago. Accepted that he wouldn’t feel the same way. It made it easier to stay in control when the potion hit. That doesn’t mean I didn’t feel the effects, just that I could control myself better.”

“And how do you know he doesn’t feel the same?”

Draco lowered his head. If he was going to do this, say this, then he couldn’t look Potter in the eye. He trembled, his tired, potion-addled brain made it hard to think, hard to form a coherent thought, but he managed. “Because I know him, Potter, and he could never feel the same way.”

“How do you know that, though?” Potter asked, his voice a whisper.

Potter tried to place a hand on Draco’s shoulder, but Draco pulled away. “Because I just know,” he said, chanced a look at Potter and regretted it. Their eyes locked, the fiery green of Potter’s eyes scorched through the last of his resolve. “He wouldn’t. _You_ couldn’t.”

Potter opened his mouth like he was going to speak, then closed it again, tightening his lips into a hard line. Then his face softened, and he said, “Okay, but if the potion was supposed to be stronger around the person you were attracted to, and it was affecting me so much around you then…”

“Potter, don’t,” Draco said, cutting Potter off again. He couldn’t believe himself. Here Potter was about to say he was attracted to Draco because the potion affected him so much, but Draco knew that couldn’t really be the reason. It had to be that Potter wasn’t in touch with his feelings. The other reason the potion could be strong was blocking or denying yourself of an attraction. It had to be that.

“I’m just saying that if that was the case then…”

“It wasn’t,” Draco snapped. “Remember Pansy also said it would be worse if you denied it or were blocked?”

Draco didn’t wait for a response. He was already drafting a letter for a partner transfer in his mind when he tossed the Floo powder in and let the green flames consume him. Working with Potter would be impossible after this.


	10. Harry

Merlin, Harry thought, as he followed his partner through the Floo and back to the Ministry. His partner really was a pain in the arse. Dropping a bomb like that and then making an exit without waiting for a response. Ever the drama queen. He didn’t even give Harry a second to process what that meant, or to tell him that clearly the attraction Harry had been denying was for Malfoy, so that plus being around Malfoy made the potion extra strong.

The green flames of the Floo flickered as he stepped through into the lobby of the Ministry expecting to see Malfoy waiting for him, but his partner was nowhere to be seen. Curious. Well, not so curious. Malfoy had just confessed that he was attracted to Harry and he hadn’t seemed too happy about admitting it. Could he have travelled home without Harry realising?

“Auror Potter!” Robards was walking towards him with a tight-lipped frown on his face.

“Sir.” Harry nodded. “I was just on my way up to meet you.”

“Care to tell me why your partner popped out of the Floo and verbally requested a partner change before heading home without being debriefed?”

Harry felt a rush of heat hit his face. Malfoy had asked to be reassigned because he thought Harry didn’t reciprocate his feelings.

“Why can’t you seem to keep a partner?” Robards asked, his voice lower and softer. It didn’t sound like a reprimand, more like sympathy. “I thought you and Malfoy worked well together. Complemented one another.”

Harry pulled in a deep breath, thinking about it. “We do.”

Clearly Robards hadn’t been expecting an agreement. His mouth hung open and his brow arched up towards his hairline. “Then what happened?”

“Don’t put in the transfer yet,” Harry said. “Let me talk to him.” He turned around and pulled a handful of Floo powder out of the sachet next to the fireplace. He tossed it in and the flames roared to life.

“But Potter...” Robards started to say, but Harry interrupted him.

“We’ll be back.” Harry smiled and then said, “Malfoy Manor.”


	11. Draco

“Stupid, stupid,” Draco mumbled to himself as he poured a cup of camomile tea. He sipped it, and it burned his tongue. “Doubly stupid, Draco. Way to burn your tongue.”

Draco crossed his sitting room and stood in front of the fire. He knelt down and picked up a log from the pile next to the mantel. The hearth roared to life as he tossed the log on the pile. The manor was quiet outside of the flickering fire.

“Merlin, what was I thinking,” he mumbled again. As he stood up, the flames of the fire flickered a deep green. Someone was trying to come through. Only a handful of people had access to the Manor’s Floo network. His mother had access, but as his house-elf, Pinky, informed him when he arrived home, she was still in France. Pansy had access, but usually she called first to ask if it was okay to drop in. And, of course, the Ministry had an emergency policy for all employees to give access to Minister Shacklebolt, as well as to their direct boss, so Head Auror Robards has access, too. It could be him come to yell at Draco for skipping the debrief. But something like hope flickered in Draco’s chest like a flame in a soft breeze. His partner also had access to the Manor via Floo.

He had no idea who it would be, but he stepped back to give them access when they arrived. Part of him was shocked when Potter stepped through. Another part of him felt happy, but he told that part of himself to shut up. Potter couldn’t be here for a good reason. In all of the time they were partners, Potter never once used the Floo to come see Draco.

“Hi,” Potter said as casually as if they often visited each other’s homes. He dusted some ash off his robes and sneezed from the debris.

Draco knitted his brow and peered over Harry’s shoulder to see if anyone else would be coming through with him, but the flames turned bright orange again. “Uh, hi?”

Potter whistled as he took in the sitting room. “Nice room. Very Victorian Earl sitting by the fire after a dinner party.” He nodded towards the tea and added, “Though, don’t they usually drink brandy and smoke cigars or something else ridiculous like that?”

“I like tea better, and smoking is gross,” Draco answered, stupidly. What was Potter doing here? And why was he acting so casual?

He stepped around Draco and walked further into the room. He paced in front of a bookshelf dragging his finger along the spines. “You left before I got back.”

“I’m tired,” Draco half-lied. “The potion took it out of me.”

“Me too. But it seems you weren’t too tired to tell Robards you didn’t want to be my partner anymore.” Potter stopped walking along the bookshelf and turned to face Draco. He smiled, a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Draco felt sure that if he tried to move even one inch his legs would give out under him. He schooled his expression, leaning on old habits, and smirked at Potter. “Thought you’d be thrilled to be rid of me, Potter. No more protocol, no more having to hear me whine about plans and paperwork. You’re free to dash about like a Herculean hero. Run into a burning building, save a kitten and all that.”

Potter shrugged. “It was starting to grow on me, actually. I thought we made some good progress back there with all that honesty stuff.”

“What?” Draco couldn’t hide the shock in his voice.

“Yeah, in the spirit of honesty, I’d sort of grown fond of all your dithering about proper filing and the fact that you put a coaster or napkin under my mugs when you think I’m not looking. Plus, it’s kind of nice having someone at my back. I’d forgotten what that felt like.”

Draco had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. “What are you saying? You want me to stay on as your partner?”

“Only if you want to, of course.” Potter resumed his walking about the room. He stopped in front of a portrait of Draco that his mother had commissioned when he turned eighteen. Draco hated it, but his mother insisted on hanging it in the sitting room. The portrait itself was life-size and in it, Draco stood behind a high-backed chair with one hand resting on the chair and the other tucked away in his trouser pocket.

“Mother insisted on hanging it,” Draco found himself saying.

Potter nodded, then tilted his head to the side to take more of the portrait in. “It’s a good likeness.”

“Thanks,” Draco said. His stomach was flapping about like a fish out of water and here Potter was commenting on art like he was in a museum on a Sunday afternoon. “Potter, are you sure you want to be my partner?”

“Yes,” Potter said firmly. He crossed the room to stand in front of Draco and smiled. “I am very sure.”

“But won’t it be awkward after, you know?” Draco asked. His cheeks were burning with the heat of embarrassment. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation.

Potter gave him a curious look. A raised brow, a quirk of his lip. “No. Why? Should it be?”

“Yes.”

“How about I say something awkward to level the playing field then?”

“I doubt it will be as awkward as what I said.”

A laugh, thick and warm like honey, bubbled out of Potter. Soft and understanding. Draco wrung his hands for something to do other than take off at a sprint for the exit. This was the most unsettled he’d felt in quite a while.

“Malfoy, you’re partially right, part of the reason the potion affected me so much is because I have been ignoring a growing attraction to someone,” Potter said, his voice low and full of promise.

“Is that supposed to be the awkward part?” Draco scoffed. “We both already knew that.”

Potter held up a hand. “Let me finish before you get your knickers in a twist.”

Draco let out a huff. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Potter licked his lips. The motion woke up Draco’s desire, not that it had been slumbering too deeply after the day he’d had. “As I was saying, I have been ignoring how I felt for a long time now. In fact, I haven’t even let myself entertain the idea of being attracted to someone since everything that happened with Dean.”

“Why?” Draco couldn’t help but interrupt.

Potter sighed. “Lots of reasons. Too many people saw me as ‘ _The_ Harry Potter’ and not as just Harry, so dating was exhausting even before all that. Then one of my best friends died saving my life.” Potter paused, swallowing hard. “I felt guilty being alive when he wasn’t. Then it sort of spiraled, bringing with it all the other people who were dead because of me. I didn’t know how to be okay with that, and I promised myself I wouldn’t let it happen again, so I decided I was better off alone...until, that is, they partnered me with you.”

Every inch of Draco wanted to melt right there on the expensive carpet Mother had brought home on a trip to Iran. Somehow he managed to stay standing.

“I don’t know about you,” Potter said, his lips curling into a rueful smile, "but I don't like asking for help; hell, I don't really even like needing help. I grew up alone. No one took care of me. I did it all. Raised myself. Relying on people was new to me when I got to school. Hermione, Ron, all of my friends, I knew they were there for me. But I still tried to go it alone most of the time. Out of habit, or pride, I don't really know. They refused to let me, but that didn't mean I liked it. To me, needing someone was dangerous...for them, for me."

Draco nodded. “I can relate.”

“You can, can't you? I think we are more alike than we are different.”

“I wouldn't go that far.”

Potter laughed and Draco was sure if he only ever heard one sound the rest of his life, he wanted it to be that laugh. “Okay, fine, but we are both stubborn and prideful, you have to admit that.”

"Speak for yourself." A smile spread across Draco's face. Potter laughed again and eyed him seriously, which made Draco’s heart pound. “Okay, fine. Yes. I am stubborn and prideful, too, there, happy?”

“That being said,” Potter closed the distance between them. “I want you in my life, Malfoy.”

“As your partner.”

“If that's all you want, yes, but I was thinking more along the lines of what you told me at St. Mungo's.”

“Potter, you can't be serious?”

“Can't I?” Potter reached out and grabbed Draco's robes, fisting the fabric to pull him closer. “Is it terribly forward if I said I wanted you to kiss me?”

Draco barely hid the smile on his face. “A bit forward, yes.”

“Is it also forward if I say that I've been thinking about your lips all day and that if you don't put me out of my misery soon and kiss me, I might…”

Draco didn't let Potter finish that thought. He crashed his lips to meet Potter's and lost himself in the taste of his partner. Things were heading in a very satisfactory direction before Potter broke away and said, “It was clear that we were both right about why the potion affected me so much, right?”

“Merlin fuck, Potter, you really will be the death of me.”

“Maybe,” he agreed breathlessly. “But not until after.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Fuck,” Draco breathed out. His head felt light. He couldn't think, and his body flush against Potter's was doing nothing to help.

“Yes, that's exactly what I'm getting at.” Potter caught his mouth again and ran his fingers down Draco's jawline, his fingers continuing down to undo the button of Draco's collar.

Draco went hot all over as Potter's hand touched him. He laughed into their kiss, feeling Potter smile. The fireplace crackled, the only noise in the room beside their breathless moans as Potter slipped Draco's robe off and did to him what Draco had been dying to do each time he laid eyes on Potter.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the [Seven Shades of Sin anthology](/series/1677472), a series of Drarry fics exploring the seven deadly sins.
> 
> There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2emrdGIthVVBwflHmUO4Yo?si=_dQ6V1ITQH-abE_5ChF3lw); seven songs for each of the seven fics included in the collection.


End file.
